“What are you talking about?” I cried. “What’s wrong with our baby?”
Ben wouldn’t answer.
Instead, he looked straight at me.
“When you’re discharged, don’t come home. I want a divorce.”
Then he walked out.
His mother followed him without another word.
Two days later, when my parents drove me home from the hospital, all my belongings were waiting outside in black trash bags.
Ben had changed the locks.
Even Evelyn’s little blankets were lying on the porch.
I spent that night crying at my parents’ house, holding my newborn daughter against my chest.
But the next morning, someone knocked desperately on the door.
It was Ben.
Diane stood behind him, sobbing.
Ben dropped to his knees.
I stared at him.
“Yesterday, you didn’t even want her. What changed?”
He looked at his mother.
She shook her head frantically.
But he began crying harder.
