Hearing her, my mom hurried out of the bathroom, leaving behind the toy she'd been playing with. She came back with a damp towel in hand and pressed it toward me.
"Didn't you go to eat with Abigail? How did you end up like this?"
My chest ached, but I forced a smile. "Tripped on the way back, that's all."
Once I had cleaned myself up, she pulled me aside and lowered her voice.
"About Abigail's mother... what exactly is she planning to do?"
The memory of Abigail's words before she left weighed on me like lead.
I struggled to find an answer.
"She... she says she's going to sue," I choked out.
"Let her," my mother replied. "If that's what she chooses, then fine—she must give justice to what happened to her mother."
Sighing, she rummaged in her pocket, and pressed a bank card into my hand.
"This is a little money your father and I saved over the years. You'll need it—the lawyers, the fees... Take it, and if things get tight, tell your parents."
Forcing a smile, she added, "Son, I should go home. Your father's waiting for me to cook."
She patted my hand and walked toward the door.
I followed her to the gate and watched the front door slam shut behind her, locking me inside. The bank card burned in my palm like a live coal, setting every nerve on edge.
I wanted a divorce.
But I couldn't say that aloud. I couldn't tell my parents that after all their years of sacrifice, in Abigail's eyes, their devotion was nothing and worthless.
And among the things she thought worthless, I was included.
That night Abigail didn't come home. I didn't sleep in the master bedroom either.
I curled up on my daughter’s small bed, holding her tightly in my arms, and lay awake through the long night.
At dawn, I got up to make breakfast. Abigail opened the door and scanned the room; when she didn't see the child, she sat down.
Tapping her fingers on the table, she said, "We need to talk."
I took the seat opposite her, my eyes catching the dull red mark at the base of her neck. She cleared her throat and, looking oddly uneasy, reached into her bag and pushed two documents across the table.
It was a divorce agreement, and the private settlement she'd handed me yesterday.
"You already saw everything yesterday," she said. "So I won't lie. His name is Dylan. I've known him for some time."
"My plan wasn't to get a divorce," she went on, softer now. "But I'm pregnant with his child, and I'm not having an abortion."