Chapter 2

On the day I was discharged, I packed early.

My daughter wore the only new outfit she had.

It was a gift from my good friend, Clara Moretti.

I held her and sat by the bed, waiting for Lucas.

In the end, all I got was a text.

“The driver will pick you up. I’m with Sophia. She’s being discharged today too, and no one is there to help her.”

It was unreasonable.

And yet entirely predictable.

Ever since Sophia became a widow, he had helped with plenty of things like this.

I stared at the screen for a few seconds.

Then I closed the conversation without replying.

The driver arrived on time.

The car was spotless.

My daughter fussed in my arms.

It was time to feed her.

I took out the bottle.

The driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror, looking troubled.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry… the Don said no food in the car.”

I froze.

“I’m only feeding her milk. I won’t make a mess.”

“But the Don said… Please don’t make this hard for us, ma’am.”

I stopped.

Then I put the bottle back in the bag and held my daughter a little tighter.

She cried from hunger.

I patted her back softly the whole way home.

When I got home, I checked my phone and saw that Sophia had posted a short video.

She was sitting in Lucas’s passenger seat with a box of macarons in front of her, popping them into her mouth one by one.

Crumbs fell all over the seat.

Lucas was at the wheel, casting indulgent glances her way every now and then.

My parents sat in the back.

My mother was holding a bottle to feed Sophia’s baby, while my father held a little towel under the baby’s chin, smiling so wide his eyes nearly disappeared.

They looked like a complete family.

I swiped the video away.

That afternoon, the doorbell rang.

Sophia stood outside, holding her baby.

He was well-fed and healthy.

She leaned in to glance at the crib in my living room, then covered her mouth and laughed softly.

“Elena, this crib… why is it so old? Isn’t Lucas rich?”

I didn’t answer.

She took a bag from her purse and handed it to me.

“These are clothes my baby’s outgrown. I hope you don’t mind the hand-me-downs, Elena. The fabric is really nice.”

“Lucas bought them. Each piece was several thousand dollars.”

She lowered her gaze to my daughter.

Her smile didn’t change.

“Elena, why is yours so skinny?”

I took the bag and forced out a thank-you.

Then I shut the door and threw the bag into the trash.

That night, Clara called me.

“I saw Sophia’s video. I’m so pissed. She did that on purpose. And Lucas—Elena, you hemorrhaged while giving birth. How could he treat you like this?”

“Don’t suffer in silence. If the baby needs anything, tell me. I’ll buy it.”

“Thank you, Clara.”

“Don’t thank me. You come first with me.”

I felt the sting of tears.

At least one person was still on my side.

After hanging up, I started packing.

A few pieces of clothing for me and my daughter.

Identification documents.

One small bag.

I shoved them deep into the closet.

I didn’t know when Lucas came back.

He leaned against the bedroom doorway, watching me.

Then he let out a low laugh.

“If you want money for clothes, just ask. Stop trying to make me feel sorry for you.”

I didn’t turn around.

He walked over and suddenly wrapped his arms around me from behind, resting his chin on the top of my head.

The sharp smell of alcohol hit my nose.

His voice was very soft.

“Elena, stop making trouble.”

For one second, I was dazed.

Years ago, he had held me like this too.

That day, I’d been caught in the rain and developed a high fever.

He’d driven all night to get back to me from out of town.

He wrapped me in his arms and said, “Don’t ever wait alone for the rain to stop again.”

Now that same warm embrace came only because he was drunk.

The man who once drove all night to come back for me couldn’t even show up when our baby and I were discharged.

I gently removed his hand.

“I’m not making trouble.”

At three in the morning, my daughter cried.

I picked her up and fed her.

She sucked a few times, then cried again.

I didn’t have enough milk.

I searched every cabinet.

There was no formula.

I checked my phone.

Account balance: $2.

Three ten.

Three thirty.

Four.

She kept crying.

I paced around the living room with her in my arms, circling it again and again.

Lucas slept deeply behind the closed master bedroom door.

I lowered my head and kissed my daughter’s forehead.

“Baby, I’m sorry.”

“Wait a few more days. Mommy will take you away.”