My Mother Screamed That I Had an Iceberg Where My Soul Should Be and Slammed the Door Hard Enough to Rattle the Photos — I Stood There Waiting for the Guilt That Always Came, and for the First Time in Thirty-Two Years, It Never Did

Chapter 15 — Block

Once Iris was down in her crib, breathing slow and even, I went back to the living room and picked up the phone.

Twelve missed calls from Rachel.

Four from Diane.

And a text the length of an essay, accusing me of treason against my own blood.

I did not feel the old panic reading it.

I felt something closer to clarity, the calm of a person doing a thing she should have done years ago.

I opened Diane’s contact, and I pressed Block.