“Can the boys and I stay with you for a few days?”
“Hope.”
“I can’t keep risking my arm because Derek won’t pick them up. I need my arm to heal properly, Mom. My boys need me.”
Her voice softened. “Do you want me to come get you? The car is sorted.”
“Yes. I’ll pack what we need.”
“Do you want me to come get you?”
“Are you leaving him?”
Derek was in the living room watching television.
“No. I’m trying to heal.”
That was the first time I’d said it without apologizing.
***
An hour later, Mom handled the boys while I packed the car. Derek came out of the garage as I zipped the diaper bag.
“No. I’m trying to heal.”
“Where are you going?”
“Mom’s.”
“With Luke and Miles?”
“Yes.”
His face changed.
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
“With Luke and Miles?”
“Hope, you can’t just walk out.”
“I asked you to help me stay.”
He stared at me.
I didn’t wait for another argument.
I got in the car.
“Hope, you can’t just walk out.”
***
At Mom’s, Luke fell asleep against her chest while Miles kicked beside me on the couch.
My phone rang.
“Bring them home,” Derek said.
“No.”
“I’m their father.”
“Then start acting like one.”
“Bring them home.”
He went silent.
Then his voice sharpened.
“Do you know what this makes me look like?”
There it was.
Not “Are you okay?”
Not “Is your arm worse?”
“Do you know what this makes me look like?”
It was about what it looked like.
“Tell people the truth,” I said.
