I locked my wife in the pantry under the stairs

and silent, ready to leave if she asks.

She does not ask.

When our daughter is born, Emily cries first.

A daughter.

Small, furious, alive.

The nurse places her on Emily’s chest. Emily looks down at her and whispers, “You are not anyone’s cage.”

I cry into my hands.

After a while, Emily looks at me.

“Do you want to see her?”

I stand carefully.

Every step toward continue reading …