I did not answer her as I walked out the front door.
By the afternoon, I was back at Methodist Hospital, standing in the doorway of Maya’s room.
Chloe was already inside, sitting on the vinyl guest chair with three shiny shopping bags at her feet.
“I bought these little footed pajamas,” Chloe said, her words rushing together as she pulled out a tiny blue sleeper. “And some cotton caps, Maya. They are organic cotton, the very best kind.”
Maya lay in the adjustable bed, her right hand pressed flat over her surgical incision.
“Thank you, Chloe,” Maya said softly.
“We just want to be a family again for the baby’s sake,” Chloe said, her voice dropping to a rapid whisper.
She leaned closer to the bed, her fingers twisting air where her jewelry usually sat.
“Mark is so incredibly sorry,” Chloe said. “He did not understand how sick you were, Maya. If you could just talk to David, tell him to drop this nonsense with the bank. It is ruining us.”
