Chapter 3 - The Drive Home
The discharge paperwork was signed at dawn. The morning sky over the city was a dull slate gray, bleeding into cold daylight.
James carried Maya’s infant carrier in his right hand, his left hand hanging empty at his side. He opened the passenger door of his SUV for Clara, who climbed in without looking at him. Maya was strapped securely into the back seat, completely silent beneath the soft yellow blanket.
The drive across town was entirely wordless. Only the hum of the tires on damp asphalt and the periodic chime of the turn signals filled the cabin. Clara watched the city wake up through the condensation on the passenger window: street sweepers clearing curbs, bakers unlocking front doors, runners braving the cold breeze. Life went on outside, indifferent to the fact that her personal reality had ruptured overnight.
When they pulled into the driveway of their two-story suburban home, the familiar sight brought an unexpected ache. James had planted hydrangeas along the walkway just last spring. Now, everything looked alien.
Inside, the house was warm and smelled faintly of lavender. James gently placed the carrier on the dining table and unclipped the straps. Maya yawned, stretching two tiny fists into the cool air.
“I bought formula and a few sets of clothes yesterday morning before coming to the hospital,” James said hesitantly. “They’re in the trunk.”
Clara took off her coat, her movements mechanical. She didn't touch the baby, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from the carrier either. Maya had James’s chin—the distinctive slight cleft that Clara had kissed thousands of times.
May you like
“You stay downstairs with her,” Clara said evenly, her voice devoid of warmth. “The guest suite has a bathroom. I need space.”
James nodded without protest. “Whatever you need, Clara. Whatever you need.”
