The officer’s voice hardened.
“You can come voluntarily, or we can make this more difficult.”
For the first time since I had known her, Diane looked uncertain.
Not scared for Emma.
Not ashamed.
Uncertain.
As if the script had turned a page she had not written.
They escorted her outside.
Andrés stayed behind.
For a moment, we stared at each other through the sterile clinic air.
The man I had married.
The man who had held my hand while I gave birth.
The man who had cried when Emma first said “Daddy.”
The man who had spent three weeks telling me to be patient while his mother slowly dimmed our child like a lamp.
He took one step toward me.
“Mariela, I didn’t know.”
I wanted to believe him.
God help me, some broken part of me wanted to.
But then Emma whimpered and tightened her arms around my neck.
And I remembered his message.
Come back now.
Not: Is Emma okay?
Not: What happened?
Come back now.
I stepped back.
