“Dana? What are you doing here?”
“I’ve been texting Ryan all evening about the baby shower, and he never wrote back,” she said breathlessly. “When I called, he wasn’t answering. That’s not like him, and I didn’t want to disturb your rest. By midnight, I was picturing a car accident, one of you in a hospital. I couldn’t sleep with you so late into your pregnancy. And why on earth are YOU sleeping out here?!”
Her face went white.
That’s when the tears came. I couldn’t stop them.
I told her everything: the 3 a.m. blowup weeks ago, the keys tossed onto the bed, the reclining seats comment, the three flights of stairs I dragged my pillow down every single night, and the 6:30 a.m. texts.
My MIL went very still.
“He said what?!” she whispered.
“It’s all true.”
I couldn’t stop them.
Dana let out a small, bitter laugh, the kind you’d almost mistake for a cough. She looked up at the third-floor window where our bedroom light was off.
