Someone Had to Stay
Not a question.
A complaint.
I was too frightened for Hazel to stop and weigh those words then.
I told myself, in the half-second they registered at all, that he was scared too, that fear makes people say stupid graceless things, that he did not mean it the way it sounded.
I grabbed the diaper bag and he grabbed the car keys, and we went out into the night together, and the whole drive to the hospital I held my burning daughter in her car seat and murmured to her and believed, with everything in me, that once we were inside those doors my husband would become the father I had always assumed he was, steady and fierce and present.
I had built my whole sense of him on that assumption.