“Don’t you touch me. Not after what you did.”
“You don’t understand what we were planning—”
“I understand perfectly. And you will not walk into that recovery room and pretend you care about her. Not today. Not ever.”
“Of course we care,” my father snapped. “That’s exactly why we did this.”
“He’s the one who accepted money to marry her.” Mom pointed at Ben. “You can’t be angry at us without being angry with him, too.”
“That’s exactly why we did this.”
“You signed a contract to get rid of her,” I said. “Ben signed one to save her. That is not the same.”
Voices had started drifting into the hallway.
Nurses.
Two women from the maternity waiting room.
Even one of the hospital volunteers had stopped pretending not to listen.
“That is not the same.”
My mother looked around.
She finally seemed to realize people had heard every word.
“This isn’t the place for this,” she hissed.
“No,” I said. “The place was three years ago, when you decided Rosie was a burden you needed to handle.”
Around us, no one moved.
