She was watching us.
I could see only her eyes.
And something about those eyes made my decision for me.
“Not here,” I said.
He scoffed.
“Then where?”
“I don’t know yet.”
His expression changed.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’m taking her home.”
“Good.”
“And you’re not coming with us.”
He stared at me.
The hallway seemed to become completely silent.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“You’re not serious.”
“I am.”
“You can’t just keep my daughter from me.”
I looked at the pediatrician.
She didn’t tell me what to do.
She simply said, “If you’re concerned about immediate safety, you can ask the appropriate authorities for guidance before leaving.”
My husband laughed bitterly.
“Authorities?”
I didn’t answer.
He stepped toward me.
The nurse moved slightly between us.
That was when I noticed something on the floor.
His hand.
He was holding our daughter’s backpack.
