I managed to grab my phone and my wallet from the dresser. I left my suitcase sitting by the front door.
We went down the three flights of stairs in the dark, my knees aching with every step. The air in the building stairwell smelled of old dust and cold steam.
When I pushed through the heavy glass lobby doors, the wind hit us like a physical blow. The temperature had dropped into the teens.
The street was entirely empty. Most of our neighbors had gone away for the holidays, and the brownstones across the avenue were dark.
I stood on the curb of Seventh Avenue, holding my wife in my arms while Liam remained bundled against my chest inside my open coat.
“I trusted them to keep you safe, Maya,” I said.
She did not reply. She only pressed her face into my neck, her breath warm but shallow.
