My ankles were swollen.
My back hurt.
My eyes burned.
When I entered the apartment, Ryan was already dressed for work.
He glanced at me while pouring coffee.
“Did you sleep?”
“A little.”
“Good.
I need you to keep doing that.
I’m finally getting some rest.”
I stared at him.
He took a sip of coffee and checked his watch.
“There’s cereal in the cupboard.
I won’t be home until late.”
Then he kissed the top of my head.
That was the part that confused me most.
He kissed me as though nothing unusual had happened.
As though sending his pregnant wife to sleep in a car was no different from asking her to pick up groceries.
I wanted to throw the coffee at the wall.
Instead, I went to the bathroom and cried quietly with the door locked.
I cried until my daughter moved, reminding me that I had someone to protect.
