“She said I was selfish,” I whispered, the word tasting like dry ash.

“She said Melissa was crying because I wouldn’t bring lemon squares to her house.”

Kevin stepped closer, his shadow falling across my shoulders as he blocked the hall light behind him.

“You don’t owe them an apology,” he said, his voice flat and steady.

“I just wanted her to ask,” I said, the tears finally breaking past my lashes and spilling hot down my cheeks.

“I just wanted my mother to care that my baby might not make it through the night.”