My stitches were still fresh when my husband told me to find my own way home.He stood outside the maternity ward in a cream linen shirt, sunglasses hanging from his collar, a suitcase beside his polished shoes. His mother was already waiting in the Maybach. His sister was in the back seat, checking her lipstick in a compact mirror.“We can’t miss the flight,” Daniel said, glancing at his watch. “The jet leaves for Hawaii in ninety minutes.”I stared at him, my newborn daughter sleeping against my chest, her tiny breath warm through the hospital blanket.“You’re leaving now?” I asked.Daniel sighed like I had inconvenienced him by bleeding, healing, and bringing his child into the world.“Liora, don’t start. My mother has been looking forward to this trip for months. Ava needs a break too. You and the baby should rest at home.”His mother, Marlene, lowered the Maybach window and gave me a smile that had no warmth in it.

“She can call a car,” she said. “Women gave birth without drama long before hospital suites and private nurses.”Ava laughed from the back seat. “Besides, Hawaii is not exactly the place for a crying baby and a woman in a hospital gown.”I looked down at myself.Loose dress.Swollen feet.Discharge papers trembling in one hand.A newborn child pressed against my heart.Daniel leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Don’t embarrass me. I already paid the hospital bill. What more do you want?”For a moment, I could not answer.Not because I was weak.Because something inside me had finally gone quiet.The part of me that used to explain. Forgive. Wait. Hope.It died right there on the curb.Daniel took his passport from his coat pocket and stepped back.“Call me when you get home,” he said. “And don’t blow up my phone while I’m away. I need peace.”