My mother-in-law, Vivian Hale, wore a veil thick enough to disguise her dry eyes. Next to her stood Samuel’s younger brother, Derek, jaw set, hands spotless, wearing a suit far too costly for a man who had once borrowed from us for “one last investment.”
I leaned closer to Vivian and whispered, “My water just broke.”
She didn’t even react.
“We’re grieving,” she scoffed. “Call a taxi yourself.”
Derek checked his watch. “Not tonight, Claire.”
Not tonight.
As though labor could be postponed like a reservation.
As though Samuel’s child was a minor inconvenience.
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