I honestly thought he’d apologize.
***
It became our routine.
Every night, around 10 p.m., I’d carry my pillow down those three flights.
During that time, I learned which step creaked and which neighbor left for the airport at 4 a.m. I learned that a Honda Civic’s back seat is, in fact, not designed for a human being with a watermelon strapped to her front.
Then, around 6:30 a.m., my husband would send the text that unbanished me from the apartment.
It became our routine.
I told no one. Not my sister, not my best friend Kayla, not even Dr. Patel at my 36-week checkup, when she frowned at my blood pressure and asked if I was resting.
“I’m resting,” I lied.
My gynaecologist narrowed her eyes.
“Emma. I told you that sleep deprivation at this stage is dangerous. For both of you.”
I nodded and started reaching for my purse to pay for the consultation.
