And when I finished he said, very quietly: “Do you want to go back to him?”
And I looked at my son.
“No.”
And it came out of me with a certainty that surprised me more than it surprised him.
“I want to leave him.”
And my father said: “Then you’ve left him.”
No lecture. No pause. Nothing about giving it time.
And I said: the car’s still mine, isn’t it.
“Entirely.”
“And the apartment?”
“Let Yolanda explain the apartment.”
And then his voice changed into something I had heard him use on other people and never on me.
“Don’t warn him. Not about anything. Not one message.”
Two stops later there were two dark saloons waiting, and a woman in a suit who helped me into one that had a newborn seat
