make sense.
Instead, she said, flat and simple, “I met someone. He doesn’t want kids.”
I blinked. My brain stalled. “I’m sorry… what?”
She exhaled sharply like I was the slow one. “I deserve a better life. I’m still young. I can’t be trapped like this forever.”
I looked down at Evan. He held his tiny suitcase with both hands. His fingers trembled. His knees shook from standing too long. And still—somehow—he offered a small, polite smile, like he was trying to behave so nobody would get upset.
My voice
