I looked down.
She continued, voice low. “You stood in our foyer while I begged you to believe me. You watched them take my bags. You let your mother call me a thief. You let Claire stand beside you wearing perfume I bought for your birthday and smile while my whole life burned.”
“I know.”
“You don’t.”
The words cut, but not because they were cruel. Because they were exact.
“You don’t know what it was like to find out I was pregnant alone,” she said. “You don’t know what it was like to call your office and be told not to contact you again. You don’t know what it was like to have letters returned unopened. You don’t know what it was like to sit in a clinic waiting room while strangers looked at my ring finger and then at my stomach.”
The baby in the carrier stirred. Megan crouched and touched his blanket.
