“Go take care of your job,” she said warmly. “I’ve raised children before. Your wife just needs guidance.”
Courtney laughed.
“We’ll survive without you for a few days. Stop acting like you’re abandoning her forever.”
Hannah stood quietly beside the hospital bed.
The look in her eyes was begging me not to go.
But I went anyway.
Over the next three days, I called again and again.
Each time, my mother picked up.
She said Hannah was sleeping.
She said Owen was feeding well.
She claimed everything was completely under control.
When Hannah finally came on the phone, her voice sounded faint and terrified.
“Ethan… please come home.”
My stomach clenched.
“What’s wrong?”
Before she could reply, my mother took the phone from her.
“Nothing is wrong,” she said with a laugh. “New mothers get emotional.”
Something felt wrong.
On the fourth day, I chose to come back without telling anyone.
I bought diapers, pastries from Hannah’s favorite bakery, and a small green blanket for Owen.
When I pulled into the driveway, the front door was slightly ajar.
The house smelled stale.
The television was blasting from the living room.
Patricia and Courtney were asleep on the couch under heaps of blankets.
Dirty dishes were scattered across every surface.
A cold fear moved down my spine.
I hurried toward the bedroom.
Nothing could have prepared me for the sight inside.
Hannah was lying completely still on the bed.
Her skin had turned gray.
Her lips were dry and split.
She looked as if she had been left alone for weeks.
Beside her, Owen’s tiny face was flushed bright red with fever.
His diaper had not been changed.
His weak cries barely reached across the room.
“Hannah!”
Her eyes opened slowly.
She stared at me as though she could hardly believe I was really there.
“They took my phone,” she whispered.
