My family locked me in the basement to give birth. Days later, they returned to find a dark red liquid seeping from the door. As my mother screamed, a voice whispered behind her, “Looking for me?”
with a triumphant glow. “I’ve already cleared my schedule at the firm to join them.”
In the three months I had occupied the guest room, not a single whisper of this transcontinental excursion had reached my ears. I swallowed the rising tide of humiliation and forced a mask of casual curiosity. “Should I be packing a bag as well?”
