First, Emma Giglio, a pregnant woman for five months already, is informed that her baby’s not all right and has multiple anomalies, and second, she makes the heart-rending choice to leave it all behind. However, her suffering process is just beginning. Obviously frozen January evening befits the mood of the whole story. A young woman finds herself wandering along the warm streets of a college town in suburban Maryland. Loud marketing music is heard all around, rides are moving, couples throughout kiss and laugh.∗ Emma and her husband live in an area surrounded by MAC, Burger Kings, Wendy’s, Dunkin’ Donuts, Subway, Chipotle LB, busy and not so busy bars where you can play pool or indulge in bowling, crossfit rooms and just a friendly baseball field. Still, nowhere on this street can you buy a normal, simple birthday cake. Emma and her lover Zach are going to get one, though, despite the fact that recently she has already begun to walk differently and reminds a real cow. She remembers 24 weeks since with her two new tigers, she felt much younger. Later, they were passing a street store — ”Trader Joe’s,” but there was not a single cake. Having lost hope, but without despair, they set out back. Fully sure that there can be any cake of the birthday theme, but the shop assistant shrugs. While the future parents are running out of time, they end up in the nearest Starbucks and, forced to leave without an acquisition, are buying a small sweet ball — one and nothing more. A ball that could not cost either a birthday party or life. And Emma then felt like drinking chai tea latte; in general, throughout her new gestation, she regularly drank that comfort drink.
In Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization, a decision by the U.S. Supreme Court on June 24, 2022, reversed almost 50 years of legal precedence by overturning Roe v. Wade. The ruling in Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization set off a tidal wave of pro-life legislation across the nation. Many states codified their triggers to either ban abortion outright or make it extremely hard to perform or obtain, impacting healthcare access for many women. By the summer of 2024, 21 states had passed either total abortion bans with minimal exceptions or had enforced state restrictions as early as six weeks into a pregnancy. South Carolina, the state where Emma and Zach lived, signed its trigger ban in 2021. The South Carolina law did not institute any further restrictions than it had previously passed in anticipation of the Supreme Court overturning Roe v. Wade. The six-week ban law stated that nearly all abortions were outlawed, arguing a ‘fetal heartbeat’ could be perceived and continuing pregnancy was only optional if doing so would terminate the pregnant person’s life or result in severe bodily injury. The law also permitted abortion if the fetus would not survive live birth, or in cases of rape and incest, if law enforcement were signaled. The legislative impact on abortion access in South Carolina law further limits its six weeks because previously, the state allowed abortions to 20 weeks with exceptions. The state had served as an abortion battleground before the ruling in Dobbs. Planned Parenthood brought a suit against the new law and the previous regulations were reinstated. However, the state Supreme Court ruled the six-week ban law unconstitutional in January 2023, despite the efforts of the state’s sister senators to keep reproductive rights legal. The governor signed a newly passed State Senate bill outlawing abortion after about six weeks immediately while waiting for the six-week ban to take effect. The new all-male State Supreme Court followed suit in August 2023, yet again upholding the six-week ban.
* August 2023—Emma Giglio becomes pregnant with her third child.
* June 2024—all three GOP sister senators voted out of the office.
Emma’s pregnancies were always distinct experiences. Emma Giglio and her husband Zach always chose to not find out our babies’ sexes ahead of time and love the surprise at birth. Although I tried to use old wives’ tales about the stomach shape to predict the gender of my baby, Emma could not imagine whether it was a boy or a girl. My symptoms are all over the place, and with this pregnancy, I have had tremendous cravings for orange juice. I also feel more tired, but this is not unusual for the couple. Many parts of her life are always so busy as she has two young sons and has navigated the challenges of early motherhood during a pandemic and raising two such young children only a little over a year apart. We always knew we would have three children, including my daughter.
Emma Giglio and her husband were rather adventures and never afraid of taking risks. It was these qualities that determined their career success as entrepreneurs and later led to the birth of the family. They decided that South Carolina would be the ideal place to establish their nest. Emma Giglio met her future husband in the first days of her study in China. Newly graduated from college, with a successful career in Johannesburg and Long Island behind her, Zach thought for a moment upon arrival in Ningbo, China, the university town where my photo hung on the walls of the school where Emma worked. They were immediately in love—it was love at first sight. They got married a month later in Las Vegas and left for Johannesburg. Not wanting to be bored, they had time to cover half of Africa and live in Long Island before they made such a significant decision to move. Logging to South Carolina. At that time, the era of the Trump administration did not affect anyone—they tried to choose a comfortable place. There were no political connections with this region. They were just glad that this state had such affordable homes for sale. However, the couple soon discovered after moving that they had not been the only people who decided to change my place of residence from the East Coast.
“It wasn’t really a big part of my life until it had to be, I guess. Until it affected me.”
“It’s very rare for us to meet someone who’s actually from here,” she says. “That’s like a joke in Charleston: Wait, you’re from here?” As for abortion access, Emma never gave them much thought. In South Africa abortion has been legal since 1996, although not quite as unrestricted as in other countries, so the issue wasn’t on her radar for most of her life. “I’ve always been pro-choice, but I never knew that termination after 20 weeks was even a thing,” she says. “I was very naive. I didn’t pass judgment on a week deadline or anything. I felt like it should just be up to a person to choose what they want to do.” She pauses. “So I don’t know. I was never really following it closely. It wasn’t really a big part of my life until it had to be, I guess. Until it affected me.” “I’ve always been pro-choice, but I never knew that termination after 20 weeks was even a thing.” This marked the beginning of her abortion journey. Emma wasn’t sure why she felt a little anxious going in for her anatomy scan in December 2023, the ultrasound at 20 weeks of pregnancy in which a technician checks every part of the fetus to ensure it’s growing normally. Maybe she just had normal pregnancy nerves. The technician started the scan, and then a senior tech came in. Then she kept going. And kept going. “I was like, This is taking very long. This is the longest scan I’ve ever had,” Emma recalls.
The technician left, consulted with the doctor. She came back in. The doctor wanted her to rescan a few areas, she said. At this point it had been two hours. Zach started to google, comparing the numbers on the screen to whatever “normal ranges” the search engine spat out. Emma thought it was okay, but Zach just had a feeling.
Then five people walked into the room. The junior technician, the senior technician, a genetic counselor, a doctor, and a nurse practitioner.
They told Emma that they saw multiple anomalies in her baby.
On the screen the doctors had seen two abnormalities in the fetus’s brain, problems with his heart, blood filling his kidneys. The medical team asked the Giglios to come back in two weeks for another scan when everything would be a bit more developed, and in the meantime they ran blood tests for a host of genetic diseases and infections.
As the results of the testing began to come back—negative—Emma began to feel slightly more hopeful. “We were still cautiously optimistic,” she said, clinging to the idea that they would go back in two weeks and it would turn out that everything was actually fine.
The day before Christmas a batch of new results came into the online portal. Emma looked, and within a sea of reassuring negatives, she saw one line. The sex of the fetus: male. The baby was to be their third boy. It was the only bit of clarity they had while they sat through an agonizing two weeks of waiting, trying to parse the endless results of tests that came in and hoping each result would bring them one step closer to finding out their baby was healthy.
She explains that it was good news that everything came out negative. At the same time, some of the results were weird, and they ended up going onto a “Google rampage.” They said to themselves, “‘We need a doctor to explain these for us.’ What does it mean? Is it a good thing? Is it not a good thing?” So, while the news was good, the details on the report made it confusing for the couple. As the 2024 election approaches, discussions on women’s autonomy and reproductive rights are becoming more prominent, making Emma’s story a reflection of the current climate around these sensitive issues.
“Eventually, at the end, the doctor told us to read between the lines,” Emma recalls. It was clarifying. They knew the right thing to do would be to terminate.
Then, the day of the scan, finally, came. It was not good. There was no improvement, but rather a massive deterioration. The same organs suffered, plus the liver, plus there being virtually no amniotic fluid. There was so little water, in fact, that the baby might not even make it to term. He couldn’t breathe with so little fluid. The prognosis was bad. And confusing. After all these tests, the doctors were none the wiser. There were no genetic diseases to explain what had ravaged their little boy’s body, no definitive answer. Nor was there a treatment to try, or an expected outcome or other kids they could look to, to see what his kind of life their boy would have. Doctors’ best speculations were that Emma has contracted some infection and that it had made its way to her baby and laid ruin to the life it was supposed to be growing. “We’ll never know what happened to him,” she says. “They equated it to us being struck by lightning.”
They had a decision to make, Emma, and Zach. It kept them awake at night. Emma’s ob-gyn and a group of specialists whom they’ve been seeing helped them. There were two of them. One, wait and see if the baby would be born alive. And if he does, whether he’d ever get to open his eyes, and if he does, whether it’ll be worth opening those eyes. The other was a different one. “The second option, which they brought up quite hesitantly, would be to terminate the pregnancy,” Emma says. “And they said, ‘If that was an option for you, you can’t do that here. You wouldn’t be able to do that here’”. She remembers being in the office of one of the specialists, where they went to get a second opinion on the baby’s prognosis. They couldn’t stop asking questions. Some were more practical. Would their baby be able to walk? Talk? How many surgeries is it going to take?
While all of those questions were being posed to them, the couple was internally on their knees, grappling with more existential ones. How could they best parent this baby? Moreover, what quality of life would he have? Was the life he would live actually worth living? To summarize, what was the best thing for him? They asked the doctors one more question “If your daughter or son were going through this, what would you tell them?” “Eventually, at the end, the doctor told us to read in between the lines,” Emma recalls today. It was clarifying. It was time to go forward and put an end to the pregnancy. At that time, Emma was already 22 weeks into it. In a more liberal state, the couple would be able to terminate the pregnancy right there in their town, with their own doctors providing her with the bed rest and comfort of her own bed during the time of recovery. However, as it was South Carolina, and there were no such options available to her due to state abortion restrictions, she had to travel hundreds of miles to another place, where the procedure could by any means be implemented. The reality hits the Giglios and hundreds of miles down the road their medical advisors no less often than it does the patients especially considering the bans after Roe v. Wade. “It’s horrible, because if you’re a doctor, you have to have a heart for your patients, right?,” Emma says now. “I mean, that’s the reason you’re practicing medicine. And so to not be able to do that to the full extent is…I can’t imagine what that must be like. And then for me, to know that I’m talking to a doctor who is trained and capable of performing that procedure, and they’re sitting right in front of me, and they can’t even do that, it just adds that extra sting to it all. It’s like you could do that to me and help me through all of this right now, but you’re not going to.” Emma, after everything that had been done to her in the matter of days, was looking at how much more she would be forced to endure.
Two more weeks. Two more weeks in a pregnant body that just kept getting bigger. It was torture. They shouldn’t, but people somehow can’t resist remarking on a baby bump. Emma would be at the gym, minding her own business, and people would come up to her, all peppery with familiarity, asking when she was due. A reminder that her baby would never live.
“Where do you want to go?” Emma says her ob-gyn asked her initially as they talked about termination.
They started in New York, in Maryland, where Zach’s family lives. Two clinics meet their criteria in the DC metro area. Partners in Reproductive healthcare can see her at 24.
Why are you having an abortion?” “Is there something wrong with the fetus?” “Can you afford a baby?” “Is your husband unsupportive?” “Are you on government assistance?” “You’re still so young.” “You’re keeping it because you’re with this bum?” “Wha ta ras!” Details of the test have not been successfully updated and will be sent to the blacks. A very cheap surgery will be performed. A medical practitioner will request the procedure. Reaching out to the coordinated doctors. What to say:” I want an abortion… I want this baby to… I want it. “
“Even when I think back on it now, it feels like an out-of-body experience. I still sometimes feel like, How did this happen to us? It doesn’t feel real.”
The procedure itself cost $7,500, and it “is not on insurance “. Emma and Zach decided to put it on a credit card, but then a week ahead of their scheduled departure date, they got a call. The clinic’s social worker brought them in to config with. They were referred to The Brigid Alliance, a nonprofit that helps volunteer pregnant people use the rides to receive drugs. Over the next few days, organization personnel began contacting Emma and Zach about executing the procedure, book flights and homes, and even gave them money for the side for Uber at the airport. “They went in and said,” We act this. We took this on you. You’re concentrating on yourself and your family. We are holding you and we’ve got you. “, Emma says, with tears. “So it was such a light … when it was very isolating and sad, it’s serious, ‘You can’t do this in your home, it’s necessary to move from your home,’ she was here for us.” Emma was blown from memory funds and their generosity. But the existence of business, designed to help people in the positions of it is very good, did not escape from faults, which she felt deep in her bones. Every single step feels like a different effect. The fact that it was necessary to leave her two boys, fly away from them when it is the most needed. The fact that she was worried about babysitting them for multiple days when she could have scooted them into bed after the procedure. The fact that at the hour before she went to one of the most challenging opportunities she would ever go through, she wrote her mother-in-law instructions for all the things scenarios, which she should do, so it is possible to reach the boys. Made lunches, when her little son, was sleeping, wrote down the sleep time of boys.
Finally, it was time to go. Zach, who had been working from his in-laws’ house, for the past month, packed up his things. Emma looked up the directions to the hospital, and directed them through the car. She couldn’t look up, just at her phone. Then they went home, and spent the last, long minutes before they had to leave doing something she’d never have expected: packing. Which was really just laundry and dishes, because nobody—even those who had been giving her play-by-play contractions for weeks now—thought it would be time. Last, finally, there was packing for herself. Never had to pack a hospital bag, an Instagrammable milestone for moms-to-be, felt so horrible. Because she was packing a suitcase. For a different climate, going and buying winter gear she’d long since discarded, and shoving it into her bag.
“I also was like, ‘I’m going to be bleeding, and I’m traveling. I don’t want to be wearing white,’” she says.
Emma wouldn’t be having a normal recovery, being monitored and checked-on in a hospital postpartum ward. Once the baby was out, she was on her own. What should she wear to leave the hospital? With her older sons, Emma had fun picking out floral dresses, cute enough for photographs but stretchy enough to be comfortable on her postpartum body. She couldn’t wear a dress in Maryland in January, and, besides, it just felt wrong. She settled on a sweatsuit, in black, naturally. For the baby, she chose a blanket and cap with little cars on them, a vehicle print I couldn’t do before for her surprise babies.
Zach and Emma left on a Wednesday. The 30 minutes’ drive to the airport, the driver tried to be chatty, engaging Zach about “nothing,” as Emma says. Just trying to make things seem normal. She just sat in the back, staring out the window.
“Now, I still feel like, in any moment, it feels like an out-of-body experience,” she says. “I still sometimes feel like, How did this happen to us? It doesn’t feel real.”
Inside the airport, Zach remarked that this had been the first trip they’d ever gone on together that he didn’t care. Almost. They got on the plane. When Emma handed an airline ticket to the gate agent, the woman looked at her big belly, then at the name on the ticket. And she smiled.
“Is a little Emma coming soon?” she asked. Partners in Abortion Care is both a sprawling yet understated office park in the town of Dobbs that is made up of red brick colonial buildings. Ob-gyn Diane Horvath focuses on abortion care and founded a clinic where she treated patients from all over the country who were aged from 11 to 53. It is the only clinic in the country that is owned by women and specializes in abortions up to 34 weeks of the gestation, which is probably the latest one to do the operation. “We knew there was a need for later care, ” she said. “And we knew that there were only a few places that saw people beyond 30 weeks. ” On the first day of the two-day procedure, Emma, and Zach decided to go to the clinic and walked from the hotel. It was cold. But it almost felt nice, she thought, to have the cold air sting her cheeks. They walked straight through the parking lot, down a long hallway outdoor, where there were signs of every type of medical office for human beings that could be imagined, and finally found themselves near the door, which simply said “Partners.” The outside of the clinic was actually very low-key, except for the funny-looking welcome mat in bright colors, in which “ Safe Space ” was written. It felt fine to Emma, she actually didn’t bother about it, however, when she sat down in the waiting room, she felt alone. For the first minute, she was fine, but then got the feeling of unfairness of the whole situation.
It’s cold outside, she remembers thinking; this is not the environment that we’re used to—I’m away from my children and my home and the comforts of my bedroom. “It just all hit me, that weight, how unfair this is…it just was like, This isn’t where we should be right now.”
Emma had spent a lot of time on the internet over the previous few months, and had found support groups, where other parents who’d had to terminate for medical reasons gave advice. Emma was drawn to the tips for how to celebrate your baby’s life. Because they knew his sex, they could choose a name. Emma had always liked Siya, after the South African rugby star Siya Kolisi, who Emma admired for his strength and perseverance. They had batted the name around before, but this time it felt right. He was their Siya.
Emma wanted to honor Siya and celebrate him just like any other baby. Her doctors back home in South Carolina had recorded Siya’s heartbeat and placed it into two stuffed animals for his big brothers. And she had clung to one idea that another mom who’d lost her baby had told her about: to have a birthday party for him the night before. Buy a cake and sing to him. Tell him about his brothers, how much they loved him, how much they would miss him.
But when Emma was finally seen, she learned they didn’t have one more night. The last thing they would do at the appointment that day was give her the injection to stop Siya’s heart.
“But they said, ‘All of the rooms right now are full, so you have a couple hours if you want to go out and do something,’” she says.
Emma and Zach stepped out into the numbing cold. There would not be a birthday when they returned in. They have to do it before that. But something was calling out to determine that. Emma saw a Nando’s just down the road, and her heart was glad. It is a prominent South African franchise that specializes in chicken. That’s it. It was a sign. They need some lunch and whatever one gets, but she needed they must get the cake too. And the cake pop. And then it was time.
“…we then went back to the clinic, and they gave us the room to ourselves so that we could talk to him. And we just told him how much we loved him and we sang, and we didn’t eat the cake pop. It was just a pretty boring thing I think. And…so then we got to the serious part and they asked if we were ready”… “And we were, and I don’t know how I did it, but I sang him to sleep. I sang, “You Are My Sunshine.” … And then they are done. And they say, “Sorry for your loss”…”
It’s hard not to view the entire, awful experience through the lens of what-ifs. What if they were in Summerville? For one, Emma and Zach would have gone home after saying goodbye to Siya, home to their boys, to their own space. Instead, they went back to a hotel room and ate takeout. Emma spent the night lying there, the effects of the drugs she had been given to induce labor slowly working their way through her body.
In the morning she went back to the clinic and prepared to deliver Siya. It would be her first vaginal delivery, something special, she thought. Both her other boys were C-sections, and had her pregnancy progressed much further Siya would have had to be a C-section too. As it was, he was just young enough gestationally.
Partners in Abortion Care provides a space for patients to labor together as the drugs begin to take hold. It’s a narrow room on the smaller side, with a row of big lounge chairs. There are medicine balls and peanut balls for laboring, books and magazines, and a TV. There are also notebooks, which the staff replaces when they get full. In them patients write notes of encouragement to one another, and to those who may come after them, like I felt so alone but if I can do it you can, you’re stronger than you think, keep going. Some sign their first name, others just their initial. Some draw pictures.
Emma sat in there all day, not incredibly uncomfortable but noticing as the medication began to take effect. Dr. Horvath says that the goal is pain management and making the patients as comfortable as possible; there’s no need to restrict any medication that could harm a fetus, as there is in an average labor. Around 4 p.m. Emma started bleeding. The contractions grew strong. She went into the room where she would deliver and then, nothing. For the actual birth she was sedated.
“What I do remember is just feeling empty. A hotel room, I think sometimes can feel empty, and my body was feeling empty. I didn’t have my baby.”
She awakes and she and Zach are taken to a recovery room. And then they met Siya. He was in a Moses basket, in the hat and the blanket that had cars on it that she had chosen which Emma realized was her one parenthood choice she ever got to make, in his hat and blanket on which the obstetrician, named Dorinda, Emma’s cousin’s name, did not think was cute. Siya was wrapped in hospital linens. His parents held him. “It was not clear-cut, but we had the time that we had with him,” says Emma. Emma learned she was going to have a boy and was excited that he could play ice hockey. She and Zach held Siya, they snuggled him. They took photos with him. The room had a bed, so Emma sat with him or laid in it with him held in her arms. However, it was all very brief. They were the last to check into the doctors’ office, and they were forewarned that they probably would be there all night. However, the nurses started their night shift at 6am and there was a snowstorm brewing so they needed to go home. So they left Siya with his parents as they took the blankets that Emma knew they would wrap Siya in to keep. And that was the wrong part, thinks Emma today, they took his “blanky.” How could they leave without Siya covering their child? How could they leave one office removed from another woman’s bloody sonogram image of her dinner plate baby and be at 28,000 feet in the morning? “I think as a mother, your role is to protect your children and you just want them to be warm and safe. And the thought of ‘I have the blankets and he was not swaddled…,’” she says her voice petering off. “And now we had to leave him behind,” she said. “And then we had to get on an airplane and leave him behind.” And thus was the final what-if. The final, unbearably barbaric cruelty. For Emma not only had to run away from her baby at that office; she had to wake up in the morning, get on an airplane, and fly away. She thinks she blocked a lot of that night out of her mind. It was too painful. “What I do remember is just feeling empty,” she said. “A hotel room, I mean sometimes it feels empty, I think, but my body was feeling empty. I didn’t have my baby.”
Under no circumstances would Emma leave her house. She would curl up under her favorite blanket, sleep, and wait for a call from her husband or someone else to let her know that everything is fine now. All she wanted was not to get up and lie in bed.
But that morning, not 24 hours after giving birth to her son, she was already in the car, heading to the airport. “And so I was sort of forced to have to get out of bed and get dressed and go to an airport and be in public and sit there amongst everybody else as if I hadn’t just given birth the day before,” she says.
Sitting in her airplane seat, she was bleeding. And bleeding. And bleeding into the heavy pads that they double layer. She couldn’t stop bleeding. She watched Siya and nursed her nagging and achey feverish body only for her to start feeling the pain again. But now as she sits and narrates the horrific ordeal that was put in, she simply thinks.
She was forced to. She went through all that. What kind of a sick person would allow that to happen? She shakes her head in disbelief as her the haunting memories flood her mind. “I don’t think people understand the level of trauma that can have on a family. If you can just think through the journey we had to take and the gravity of that. Especially being as far along as I was. You actually are going through the process of giving birth; you labor an entire day. You’re exhausted, you’re going through contractions, you’re eating Popsicles all day, you’re going through the process of labor, and then you are actually physically giving birth. Sedated or not, your body is still working and doing all that stuff. Then leaving and getting on a flight, when usually in any other birthing situation, you are in a hospital, recovering for at least 24 hours. I don’t really think people get that.”
It’s been nine months. Emma is still grieving, but she’s getting by. Telling her older son the baby had died was hard. Her due date coming and going was hard. When iPhone memories pop up of her older sons as infants, she thinks to herself, Siya should be doing that now, or, Siya should be using that swing.
Emma has had a lot of time to think about what to do now, as Siya’s mom. She can no longer parent him physically. How does she parent his legacy?
One thing I’ve thought about is sharing his story. Siya is always with me, but I’m the only one who knows who he is. I want him to be an ever-present part of the family. I don’t want to stop talking about him, or put him away. I want people to know about him. I want to tell people what happened. I also hope maybe he could help someone else.
“A lot of people have said I’m very brave for sharing my story, and I feel like brave means that I am telling my story in fear of judgment, so that’s why I’m brave, ” she says. “But I feel like there’s so much stigma around termination for medical reasons, infertility, miscarriages, that people don’t talk about it. And I think it would be great if we lived in a world where these things can get spoken about and we can just be parents sharing stories about our children who didn’t make it.”
I’d also like to think that for those who implemented the laws that caused me so much added grief and trauma, the cruelty isn’t actually the point. If I share Siya’s story, these people who are doing this maybe will realise how wrong these restrictions are.
o share my story in hopes of creating some kind of greater understanding around the complexities of reproductive health,” she says, after speaking about a doctor early in her process who made an insensitive remark about wanting to hurry up her family planning. “It’s not getting a pregnancy test that’s positive and the outcome is a happy, healthy baby at the end. That’s not how it works. Unfortunately, we had an experience where that wasn’t the outcome for us. We suffered a tremendous amount of trauma having to fly away from our home and having this procedure done with doctors we didn’t know in a place we didn’t know…. They are the things that people don’t think about, and don’t talk about, and it’s very easy to judge. But this is not a black and white, easy issue. This is very complex.”
Emma’s personal abortion story reflects the many healthcare obstacles that women face, especially in states with restrictive laws. She highlights the importance of women’s health autonomy in deciding what’s best for their bodies and their families. As the 2024 election and abortion debates heat up, Emma’s personal narrative on abortion serves as a powerful testament to the need for compassionate understanding and policy reform.
Now Emma thinks about Siya all the time. So many things remind her of him. Inevitably, she can’t go to an airport without thinking about the trip she made to say goodbye to the baby boy she hoped would one day accompany her. For the rest of her life, being on an airplane will remind her.
So Emma and Zach have claimed it. They get to the airport, scope out a corner bar or place an order once on the plane. They order mimosas, because Emma couldn’t stop drinking orange juice when she was pregnant. They drink and they toast to their baby boy. To Siya.
