“Carry me?”
He walked toward the hall closet.
Then pulled out the hospital bag I had packed weeks earlier.
“Daniel.”
He opened the front door.
“What are you doing?”
He threw the bag onto the grass.
It landed beside the walkway.
My baby’s clothes spilled partially from the zipper.
I stared at them.
A tiny pink hat.
A white blanket.
Two newborn sleepers.
Lying in wet grass.
“Pick that up.”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“Pick up our daughter’s things.”
“I said no.”
Another contraction hit.
I closed my eyes and breathed through it.
