On the way out, I saw the apartment as if I were visiting it for the first time. The framed wedding photo on the shelf. The baby blanket Linda had chosen and then complained was too expensive. The calendar with doctor appointments Ryan had crossed out and rescheduled without asking me. A stack of unopened mail sat near the door.
Dad noticed the mail too.
He paused.
Linda followed his gaze and moved too quickly. “That’s nothing.”
Dad picked up the stack before she could reach it.
Ryan’s voice sharpened. “Those are private.”
Dad handed the envelopes to one of the officers. “Then they can be reviewed properly.”
I did not understand why such a small thing made Ryan look so frightened.
At the hospital, the world became bright lights, white walls, gentle questions, and machines that measured the baby’s heartbeat. That sound filled the room like a tiny drum refusing to surrender.
