A mutual friend sent me the pictures with one sentence.
Blaire, I’m so sorry.
I stared at them for less than a minute before putting my phone facedown.
I had spent months begging reality to become something else.
There comes a point when even denial gets tired.
My cousin Natalie lived in Queens with her husband and their teenage son. When I finally told her what had happened, she did not ask why I had stayed so long.
She said, “Come here.”
“I have Fiona.”
“Of course you have Fiona.”
“I don’t know for how long.”
“Then come for however long you need.”
I booked two one-way tickets to New York using money from a savings account that was solely in my name.
It was not much.
But it was mine.
I did not tell David where we were going.
I did text him before leaving for O’Hare.
