I asked her what she was doing.
She didn’t cry. She didn’t apologize. She didn’t even pretend she had been caught in some temporary panic.
She zipped one suitcase, stood up, and said, « I can’t do the rest of my life like this. Feedings, appointments, all of it. I’m still young. I want a life. »
I remember staring at her in utter disbelief, trying to reconcile what she was saying with the reality of having three new kids.
Then she slammed the door and woke Lily.
Three bassinets stood against the wall.
Bottles were drying in the kitchen.
Milk stains marked the shoulder of my shirt.
She looked at all of it and said, « Do not contact me. I can’t be what this needs. »
Then she slammed the door and woke Lily.
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