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Early the next morning,I get up and find Bailey’s luggage by the front door. She’s fully dressed.
“What the hell’s going on?” I say, my chest tightening with dread like I’ve never felt before.
“I’m leaving,” she replies calmly.
“Thebaby—“
“You’ll need to take care of her or find a sitter,” Bailey interrupts. “She’s not awake yet, but she will besoon.”
“And you’re not even going to say goodbye? You’re not going to stay with her until the transition’smade?”
Bailey can’t look at me. She shoulders her purse. “She’ll need a feeding, but you know how to do that now at least.”
“Bailey, Jesus. You’re upset, I understand.” I can’t quite fathom she’s going to leave us—me and the baby—stranded like this. Doesn’t she know what she’s doing? I had a plan. It would be orderly, we would adjust to the new reality. Bailey would eventually calm down, andthen…
But looking at her face, I realize she wasn’t going to adjust, accept Olivia’s departure. She would accept nothing less than my complete commitment to fighting for custody of this child.
And that I cannotdo.
I swallow hard, feel the burning pain in my chest, grit my teeth, stuff down the pain yet again. “Okay,” Isay.
And then, just like that, she’sgone.