Todavía me estaba recuperando del parto. Conducir durante cualquier período de tiempo fue incómodo, y llevar los suministros para bebés solo se sintió abrumador.
But staying under that roof was becoming unbearable.
“I want to go home,” I said.
“Then go home. If you need help getting everything there, we’ll figure it out.”
That evening, I began packing.
Mom appeared in the doorway.
“What are you doing?”
“Leaving.”
“With a newborn? You need help.”
“I needed help when the police came.”
Ella miró.
“¿Realmente vas a tener un error contra mí para siempre?”
Doblé otra durmiente y la coloqué en la bolsa.
“One mistake?”
“Estaba asustado”.
“Yo también”.
“We’re family.”
I stopped packing.
For years, those two words had been enough to end almost every argument.
We’re family.
Which had always meant I was expected to forgive whatever happened.
But family should never have meant that one child was disposable.
