“An answer you could trust,” I repeated. “So you trusted your mother’s accusation enough to walk out on me. But you didn’t trust your own wife enough to pick up the phone.”
He flinched. “I should have answered. I saw your name. I let it ring.”
“I woke up asking for you,” I said. “Our daughter was crying, and I couldn’t even lift her. The nurse had to help me.”
“I should have answered.”
He glanced toward the bassinet.
“You missed that because you decided I was the one person you couldn’t ask.”
“I want to stay,” he said. “Please. Let me stay. Let me hold them.”
Part of me wanted to say yes so badly it hurt.
“I want to stay,”
That was the picture I’d carried all morning: Andrew in the chair, the girls in his arms, my chocolate bar on the tray.
