“For however long.”
I stepped onto the porch.
“Come inside. You’re upset. We can talk.”
“No.”
“Vanessa, you’ve just lost David.”
“So have they.”
Her tone startled me.
Flat.
Detached.
I lowered my voice.
“You’re their mother.”
“I know what I am.”
“Then what are you doing?”
Her eyes finally met mine.
“I wasn’t made for this struggling-mom life.”
I thought I had misheard her.
“What?”
“I can’t spend the next fifteen years worrying about daycare, bills, groceries, school, doctors, all of it. David was supposed to be here.”
“He was my son.”
“I know.”
“And they’re his sons.”
“I know that too.”
George had been staring at her the entire time.
Waiting.
Even at two years old, he understood something was happening.
Vanessa sighed.
“I need to live my own life.”
Then she pushed the garbage bag toward me with her shoe.
Something inside me turned cold.
