That was all it took.
I broke all over again.
Emily didn’t ask me to explain right away.
She just pulled me inside, shut the door, and wrapped both arms around me while I stood there in the hallway with my work bag still hanging from my shoulder like I was some fool who had shown up at the wrong address.
Our girls were in the living room building a blanket fort.
Six-year-old Maddie looked up first.
“Daddy?”
Nine-year-old Claire saw my face and stood very still.
Kids know.
They always know.
Emily sent them gently upstairs with a promise of cartoons and apple slices.
Then she led me into the kitchen, sat me down, and waited.
So I told her.
I told her everything.
About the woman.
About the hospital.
About the missed calls.
About Nick’s face.
About the sentence I couldn’t get out of my head.
