Three Baby Cribs and a Missing Set of Car Keys
“He always did care about what the neighbors thought,” Martha said, setting her mug down on the small wooden table between us.
“He cared about what the camera saw,” I said. “He wanted the perfect family portrait, but he didn’t want to live in it.”
“And you?”
“I have forty cans of formula in the kitchen and three cribs upstairs,” I said. “That is my reality now.”
The baby monitor gave a small static hiss as Bodhi shifted in his sleep, his little fist likely hitting the wooden slats.
“Evelyn Vance said the papers are fully prepared,” I said, keeping my voice down. “All he has to do is sign.”
“And if he refuses?”
“He knows what the bank statement says,” I said, watching a blue jay land on the mailbox at the end of the drive. “And he knows Shaun has the receipt for the beach house.”
A car engine sounded in the distance, turning off the main road onto our quiet stretch of Elm Lane.
Martha stood up, smoothing her cotton skirt. “I will stay in the nursery with the babies.”
