Patricia crossed the street with sharp, impatient steps, the heels of her shoes clicking against the wet pavement.
“Where is she going?” she demanded before she even reached the porch.
Mark shifted Ruby gently in his arms. “Emma needed a few hours.”
Patricia let out a short, disapproving laugh. “Of course she did. Running away from responsibility already.”
I felt the familiar tension settle in my shoulders. Patricia had a way of making every conversation feel like a test you were failing.
“She’s exhausted,” I said calmly. “Newborns are a lot.”
Patricia’s gaze slid past me into the house, scanning everything like an inspector. Then her eyes landed on Mia.
“And this is where the baby is staying?” she said skeptically.
“Our house is fine,” Mark replied, his voice firm.
Ruby made a soft whining sound, the kind babies make when they’re about to cry. I took her from Mark and carried her inside.
Mia followed right behind me like my tiny assistant.
“Can I help?” she asked eagerly.
Leave a Comment