He looked at his phone.
“It’s just a family dinner, Simone. Please don’t make this difficult.”
Family dinner.
I stood there in stained pajamas.
Six days postpartum.
My daughter sleeping against my chest.
The hospital bracelet still on my wrist.
Then the front door shut.
Through the kitchen window, I watched my own car back out of the driveway with everything I needed to transport our baby safely.
Before the garage had fully closed, my phone lit up.
A private message from Beverly.
He deserves one peaceful night away from you.
Then a photograph appeared in the family group chat.
Faye had posted it.
Roland sat beside Beverly at her dining table.
Her hand rested on his arm.
Everyone was laughing.
Seven places had been set.
Beverly.
Roland.
Faye.
Derek.
Aunt Glenda.
Uncle Paul.
Cousin Mariah.
No empty plate.
No place for me.
No place for Wren.
Faye’s caption read:
Family’s all here!
I read those words twice.
Family’s all here.
The soup began boiling over.
I turned off the stove.
Then I looked down at my six-day-old daughter.
Her tiny fist rested against my collarbone.
Something inside me became completely quiet.
It was the same silence I had felt at sixteen in the hospice hallway.
