“I’ll get everything,” he said.
“No. Come with me, but I’m going.”
Every step hurt as I walked to the bags. My clothes and postpartum supplies had been shoved inside.
I looked through the front window.
Six black trash bags sat near the driveway.
Part of Evie’s nursery was visible.
The rocking chair was there. So was the blanket Ben had insisted on buying because he said our baby deserved one ridiculously soft thing.
My key wouldn’t turn.
“Ben!”
No answer.
My key wouldn’t turn.
I called him, and his phone rang somewhere inside.
Dad stepped beside me.
“Do you want me to knock?”
“No. If he can hear his phone, he can hear me. He just won’t face me.”
I picked up the diaper bag.
“Let’s go.”
“He just won’t face me.”
That night, I cried beside a sleeping Evie. I still loved Ben, but I knew he was hiding something enormous from me.
