to betrayal, as if I had stolen myself from him.
‘You planned this,’ he said.
‘Yes.’
The truth landed harder than any excuse.
Mom started crying then.
Not the quiet kind.
The public kind.
The kind designed to make people stop noticing what had caused it and start comforting the person making the most noise.
‘After all we did for you,’ she said.
I paused on the back step.
There were answers I could have given.
I could have listed the canceled dates, the missed promotions, the nights I slept in scrubs on the hallway floor because a toddler had a fever and Delphine had gone out.
I could have named every bill I paid and every birthday of mine they forgot until they needed cake for the children.
But the clock over the stove said 7:34.
My interview was still possible.
‘I am not missing this for brunch,’ I said.
Then I walked out.
Dad followed me onto the porch in his bathrobe.
‘You get in that car, I will call the police and tell them you abandoned those children.’
I unlocked the driver’s door.
‘They are not my children.’
Delphine appeared behind him, holding the crying baby now.
‘So you hate them? That is what this is? You hate innocent kids?’
That one cut, because I loved those children.
I loved Theo’s sticky hands around my neck.
I loved Mina’s sleepy weight against my shoulder.
I loved the way little June called me Rennie because she could not make the hard sound at the end.
But love had been used as a leash in that house.
I looked at Delphine over the roof of my car.
‘I love them enough not to teach them that one woman has to disappear so everyone else can be comfortable.’
She looked away first.
I got in.
I locked the doors.
Dad slapped his palm on my window once, hard enough to make the glass jump.
I did not jump with it.
Mara stayed on the phone until I backed out of the driveway.
At the end of the street, my hands started shaking so badly I had to pull over beside a closed gas station.
I sat there with the engine running, breathing in short, ugly pulls.
Freedom did not feel clean at first.
It felt like escaping a burning building and realizing smoke had filled your lungs.
My phone buzzed again and again.
Mom: Come back now.
Dad: You will regret this.
Delphine: Theo is screaming because of you.
Dad: No daughter of mine steals my house.
Mom: We can talk after brunch.
That last one made me stare at the screen until the shaking stopped.
After brunch.
Even then, she still believed the schedule was Delphine first, Ren later.
I turned the phone face down, pulled back onto the road, and drove to Columbus.
The office tower had glass doors so clean I saw myself before I went in.
Navy blazer.
White blouse.
Hair pinned low.
Eyes red but dry.
I almost turned away from my reflection because I looked like someone who had survived something before breakfast.
Then I remembered Dad’s words.
Girls like you don’t get lives.
I walked inside.
The interview lasted ninety minutes.
The regional director, a woman named Elise Tran, asked about clinic operations,
