Chapter 2

Discharge day.

I've had my bag packed since dawn.

My daughter's wearing the only new outfit she owns — a onesie my best friend sent over.

My ankles are so puffy that my shoes won't close all the way.

I sit on the edge of the hospital bed, holding her, waiting for Dante.

All I get is a text.

"Driver's coming. I'm with Sophie. She's checking out today too, no one over here to help."

Not surprising.

Predictable, honestly.

Ever since Sophie became a widow, he's been "helping out" a lot.

I stare at the screen.Exit the chat.

Don't reply.

The driver's on time.

Car's spotless.

My daughter whimpers against my chest.

She's hungry.

I pull out the bottle.

The driver glances in the rearview mirror.

His face twists up, apologetic.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry... the Don doesn't allow food in the car."

I blink at him.

"I'm just feeding her. It's a bottle. I won't spill."

"The Don said — please, ma'am. Don't put us in that spot."

I stop.

Put the bottle back in the bag.

Hold her a little tighter.

She screams the whole way home.

I pat her back.Over and over.

When we get home, I open my phone.

Sophie's posted a new clip.

She's in the passenger seat of Dante's car.

A whole box of cherries in her lap.

She's popping them into her mouth one by one, red juice everywhere.

Dante's driving.

Every few seconds he glances at her, this stupid soft look on his face.

Carol and Frank are in the back seat.Carol's holding a bottle to Sophie's baby.

Frank's holding a burp cloth under the baby's chin, laughing so hard his eyes disappear.

One perfect family.

I swipe away.

Afternoon.

Doorbell.

Sophie's on the porch, holding her chubby, pink-cheeked baby.

She peeks past me into the living room.

Sees the crib.

Covers her mouth and giggles.

"Ellie... that crib is ancient. Isn't your husband loaded?"

She looks me up and down.

Grins wider.

"Ellie, your body... is Dante feeding you a little too well?"

"You're huge! Are you sure there isn't another baby in there?"

I don't answer.

She digs a bag out of her purse.

Shoves it at me.

"My baby outgrew these already. Don't mind the hand-me-downs — the fabric's really good. Dante bought them. Few grand a piece."

She glances down at my daughter.

Same smile.

"Ellie... yours is so scrawny. Something wrong with her?"

I take the bag.

Squeeze out a thank you.

Close the door.

Three years of salt and grease have wrecked me.

That night, Lindsey calls.

"I saw Sophie's video. I'm gonna lose my shit. She did that on purpose! And Dante — you just had a baby, you're still bleeding, and he treats you like this? Screw him!"

"El, don't you dare suffer in silence. Whatever the baby needs, you tell me. I'll buy it."

"Lindsey. Thank you."

"Girl, don't. You're my number one. Always."

My throat closes up.

At least one person's still in my corner.

I hang up.

Start packing.

A few outfits for me and the baby.

The stretchy ones that still fit.

My documents.

A small go-bag.

I shove it deep in the back of the closet.

Dante's leaning against the doorframe when I close the closet door.

Don't know how long he's been there.

He lets out a dry laugh.

"Want money for bigger clothes? Just ask. Skip the sob-story routine."

"Maybe get a tent while you're at it."

I don't turn around.

He walks up behind me.

Wraps his arms around my waist.

His arms used to wrap all the way around me.

Now his hands barely touch.

Rests his chin on the top of my head.

Whiskey.

His breath reeks of whiskey.

"Ellie," he murmurs. "Stop the drama."

For half a second, I forget where I am.

Years ago, he held me like this too.

I got caught in the rain.Ran a 103 fever.

He drove all night from another state to get to me.Wrapped me up in his arms and said, "You'll never wait out a storm alone again."

Same warm arms.

Except now it's just because he's drunk off his ass.

The man who once drove all night — didn't even show up to bring me and our baby home from the hospital.

I gently lift his hands off me.

"I'm not making a scene."

3 A.M.

She's crying.

I pick her up, try to nurse her.

Two sucks and she's screaming again.

I don't have enough milk.

The past few days I've eaten nothing but hospital trays.

Now I'm home and there's nothing but unopened mystery boxes.

I can't even feed myself.

My milk supply's dying.

I tear the pantry apart.

I rip open a box.

Ramen again.

My stomach flips.

My mouth waters and I want to throw up, both at the same time.

3:10 A.M.

3:30.

4:00.

She won't stop.

I pace the living room.Circle after circle.

Dante's behind the master bedroom door.Dead asleep.

I press my lips to her forehead.

"Baby. Mommy's sorry."

"Just a few more days. I swear. Mommy's getting you out of here."

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