Then, last Friday night, headlights I didn’t recognize swept across my windshield in the parking lot, and a silver SUV rolled to a stop right beside me.
Maybe it was normal.
It was just past 2 a.m. when headlights swept across the parking lot and lit up the inside of my car like a spotlight. I froze, one hand on my belly, the pregnancy pillow wedged awkwardly under my hip.
A silver SUV rolled to a stop right beside me.
For a second, I thought it might be someone from building security. Then I heard a three-tap knock on my window.
I wiped my eyes and turned.
Headlights swept across the parking lot.
Standing there, in a bathrobe, was my mother-in-law, Dana. Her hair was flattened on one side. Her face went white when she saw me curled up in the back seat.
I rolled the window down halfway.
