“I am coming to get you right now.”

“I can drive my own—”

“No, Jessi.” Her voice went flat and immovable.

“You had an emergency cesarean seventy-two hours ago.

You are not driving a car in the rain tonight, and you are not standing in it either.

Get under the covered part of the porch, hold my niece, and do not move.

I will be there in ten minutes.”

My throat tightened, the way it does when someone takes the weight from you before you’ve even admitted you were carrying it.