By the time I was discharged, I was done chasing them.
A staff member asked whether I had somewhere supportive to go.
“I do. I have my parents.”
Mom, Jennifer, arrived with baby clothes and the expression she wore when she was trying not to cry.
“You don’t have to explain anything today, my darling. Let’s just take this precious baby home.”
She hadn’t given me an answer.
Dad, Miles, stood by the window with his keys.
“Do you want me to call Ben?”
“No.”
“If he wants to speak to me, he knows my number.”
Before going to my parents’ house, I asked Dad to drive me home.
“I need clothes, Evie’s supplies, and my medication.”
“Do you want me to call Ben?”
Dad slowed as we turned onto my street.
Six black trash bags sat near the driveway, my new diaper bag on top.
