Her joy hit me like a physical force—pure, uncomplicated, overwhelming. I wrapped my arms around her, lifting her slightly off her feet, feeling her laugh against my neck.
"Love you too, Mom."
She pulled back, wiping at her eyes and trying to laugh it off. "Okay, okay. Before I start crying in a parking lot like a lunatic. Come on, let's go home."
The Mercedes GLE sat under a harsh parking light—graphite gray, spotless despite being parked at a hospital, looking expensive and protective and exactly what I'd wanted for her. She pulled out her keys, but I plucked them from her hand before she could protest.
"I'm driving. You've been on your feet for twelve hours."
"Peter—"
"Mom. Please." I opened the passenger door and gestured. "Let me take care of you for once."
She looked at me for a long second—something soft and unreadable in her expression—then nodded. "Okay, baby. Okay."
Luckiest Mother
