The silence lasted so long that I checked the phone.
“Barbara?”
Finally, she spoke.
“He told me you left him.”
I sat straighter.
“What?”
“He said you wanted the marriage over.”
“No. He packed and left.”
Another pause.
“He also said you didn’t want me involved with you or the baby.”
I stared at the wall.
“Barbara, that isn’t true.”
Her breathing changed.
“I understand.”
Then, in a flat and very controlled voice, she said, “I’m coming over.”
About an hour later, Barbara appeared at my door wearing a coat over her pajamas and carrying grocery bags.
This was the same woman who had spent years finding subtle faults with nearly everything I did.
That night, she walked inside without criticism.
She placed the groceries on the counter, washed her hands, and carefully lifted Chloe from the bassinet.
“Well,” she whispered. “Aren’t you something?”
Chloe yawned.
