My husband appeared on the baby monitor every night at 2 a.m. carrying a mysterious paper bag—when I finally watched him open it, I gasped

of us had known how to call for help.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

His head lifted sharply.

“For what?”

He stared at me for a long moment before answering with exhausted disbelief.

“Mara, I wasn’t exactly waving.”

I laughed through my tears.

Then he began crying too.

Noah was awake by then, watching us with curious eyes.

We talked until dinner.

For the first time,continue reading …