“You’re right.”
“I’ll decide when I’m in labor whether I can have you in the room. If I ask you to wait outside, you wait. If I ask you to leave, you leave.”
“I will.”
“You don’t get to bring gifts or turn the birth into a chance to ask me to come back.”
“I won’t.”
“And you don’t get to call this forgiveness.”
“I won’t.”
I pressed my palm against my stomach.
The baby moved beneath it, rolling toward my hand.
“Your place in the baby’s life will be built over time,” I said. “Not with promises.”
“I understand.”
“I hope you do.”
There was a quiet ache in his voice when he answered.
“I do.”
We ended the call.
I stayed at the kitchen table, listening to the lake wind brush against the windows.
The choice had not made me feel brave.
