That night the blanket lay on the pillow beside me, the way Jason’s little shirts used to lie out before school. My legs ached. But my heart felt lighter than it had in years.
“I’m coming, Phoebe,” I whispered into the dark. “Grandma’s coming.”
My eyes closed around the picture of her tiny face against my shoulder.
What I did not know, what no mother could have guessed, was that across the country, in a house full of designer gifts and rich in-laws, my son had already decided I would never get to hold her at all.
***
Thirteen hours of travel had left my legs throbbing like a second heartbeat. The taxi pulled away, and the small gift bag pressed tight against my chest.
“For the love of God, don’t show up with something handmade like it’s a craft fair.”
The house on the curb was far grander than anything I had ever lived in. Porch lights glowed warm and golden. That warmth was waiting inside for me too, I told myself.
