the two men who saved your life were right outside, waiting to say hello.”

I stared at her, still trying to piece everything together, my mind groggy from dehydration and whatever virus had knocked me out. But the second she said “your babies are safe,” something deep in my chest loosened, like a knot untangling all at once.

The doctor told me later that my blood pressure had crashed, probably from a mix of the flu and sheer exhaustion. I’d been pushing too hard, trying to be everything for everyone, and my body just said, no more.

But let me rewind a bit—because what happened before that Monday is what makes it all matter.

Jesse and Lila had fallen in love with the garbage truck when they were about two. Not the idea of garbage, of course, but the sheer size and noise and routine of it. Every Monday, like some sacred ritual, they’d stand by the window with their noses pressed to the glass until I finally gave in and let them run out front.

Theo was the first to notice them. A towering guy with soft eyes and a quiet way of talking, he’d honk the horn just once, a little hello. Rashad, the more animated of the two, would wave like they were long-lost friends. And that was all it took.

It became a ritual. They’d high-five, trade jokes, and even one time, Rashad brought them each a little toy garbage truck he’d found at the dollar store. Jesse carried his around like it was made of gold. Lila made hers a bed out of a shoebox and insisted it slept next to her.