As I carried my baby home, an old woman grabbed my arm, Dont go inside, call your father she whispered, But my fathers been gone for eight years, Still, I called his old number, and when he answered, what he revealed left me frozen
I stood at the gate of our nine-story brick apartment, a newborn swaddled in one arm and a hospital bag clutched in the other. The autumn wind gnawed through my coat, biting at my cheeks, tugging at my hair—but that wasn’t what made me tremble. It was the woman standing there. She emerged from the…
