The movement was awkward.
My belly made it difficult to turn, and the seat belt buckle dug into my thigh until I managed to push it aside.
I arranged the pregnancy pillow beneath my knees and folded my sweatshirt behind my head.
The windows fogged almost immediately.
Outside, the parking lot lights flickered against the wet pavement.
I checked my phone.
No messages.
I told myself that Ryan would wake up in the morning, realize how ridiculous the situation was, and apologize.
I believed that because believing anything else was too painful.
At six thirty, my phone vibrated.
Ryan’s name appeared on the screen.
**You can come back up now.**
Not Are you okay?
Not Did you get any sleep?
Not I’m sorry.
Just permission to return to the apartment I was paying for emotionally, physically, and increasingly, financially.
I climbed out of the car, carrying my pillow and blanket.
