I parked in the gravel turnaround, left the engine running with the headlights on the porch and climbed the three wooden steps.

I bent down and loosened the yellow drawstring on the top bag.

Inside were my winter maternity coat, four pairs of stretchy pants, my flat leather shoes and three framed ultrasound pictures from my twelve-week appointment.

I reached for the brass front door handle, but before my fingers touched the cold metal, the deadbolt inside clicked back.

The heavy oak door swung in three inches and stopped hard against the brass security chain.

David’s right eye and the hard line of his jaw showed in the narrow gap.