But I was alone, completely alone. Me and my thoughts. Then, little by little, my thought took the form of my unknown child and sat beside me. This is how I felt his presence alive, flesh to flesh, breath to breath.
Your mother, Oliver, sitting by the fire on winter nights, embroidered your swaddles. Meanwhile, I was hunched over paper and books, stitching your future.
She was waiting for you: a face, a presence. I was waiting for you: a life, a future. I was waiting for you like a life plan. I want to close all the joys of the world in your little hands, my little Oliver. The joys that your father did not experience...