“Here it is,” Dr. Wyatt said. From one of her equipment bags, she pulled out a gift wrapped in pastel-colored wrapping paper. It was about a foot across both ways and only a few inches deep. Turning, she walked to where I was still sitting on the examination bed, with my legs hanging over the side, and handed the gift out to me.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Open it,” she said.
“You didn’t have to do this,” I said. Dr. Wyatt and I had a good friendship, but I certainly didn’t need gifts from her. Especially now. She could simply save this for whatever baby shower I might have down the road.
Still, she seemed adamant. “Go on,” she said. “Open it.”
So I did, tearing into the paper, I pulled it back. Inside, I revealed a mobile to hang over the baby’s crib. A circular top would hang from the
