I shook my head.
“Please don’t fight with him.
He’s stressed.”
Margaret turned back to me.
“Claire, stop protecting the person hurting you.”
The words silenced me.
She took off her bathrobe and draped it around my shoulders.
“You’re coming home with me.”
“I can’t.
Ryan—”
“Ryan can explain himself to me.”
“Margaret, please.”
She studied my face.
Then her expression softened.
“I’m not going to make you do anything tonight.
But I’m not leaving you here.”
She helped me sit in the passenger seat of her SUV.
Before closing the door, she looked directly into my eyes.
“Do you have your prenatal records?”
I nodded toward my bag.
“Good.
Your medications?”
“In the side pocket.”
“Excellent.”
She closed the door, walked back to my car, and retrieved my phone charger.
Then she disappeared into the building.
I watched her through the windshield.
Fifteen minutes later, she returned carrying a long package wrapped in brown paper.
