“Stay here for a few minutes, sweetheart,” she said. “I need to go home quickly. I’ll be back.”
I did not understand, but I nodded.
Fifteen minutes later, Dana returned. She parked, opened the back of her SUV, and pulled out a long package wrapped in brown paper.
“What is that?” I asked.
“A parenting lesson,” she said. “Left over from our lake trip. Come with me. You don’t want to miss this.”
“Dana, it’s the middle of the night.”
“Exactly.”
She helped me out of the car, and my back cracked as I stood. Her face tightened in sympathy.
“Sweetheart,” she said quietly, “you should not be doing this. Not eight months pregnant. Not ever. Not even for one night.”
I looked down, ashamed.
We climbed the stairs together. Dana carried the package like a weapon. I held the railing with one hand and my belly with the other.
Halfway up, I whispered,
“He’s going to be furious.”
“Good.”
“He’ll blame me.”
Dana turned and looked me straight in the eye.
“Emma, listen to me. You have done nothing wrong. You are growing a human being in a body that hurts, and he put you in a car in August heat. Tonight, you stand behind me. I talk. Then you sleep in your own bed. Understood?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
When we reached the apartment, Dana knocked three sharp times.
Ryan opened the door with a sleepy expression, but his face changed when he saw his mother beside me.
“Mom?”
Dana held out the package.
“A little surprise.”
He carried it inside and tore off the paper. Inside was a folded camping cot.
Ryan stared.
“Mom, what the hell?”
“Starting tonight,” Dana said calmly, “you sleep on this in the hallway. Emma sleeps in the bed.”
“You can’t do this!”
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