I felt that old pressure in my chest.
Then Olivia stirred.
Her tiny face moved against my shoulder.
I looked down.
And suddenly the answer was easier.
“That’s something Jason needs to work out with you.”
Mom stared at me.
“Not with my newborn.”
Daniel began picking up one of Jason’s boxes.
I stopped him.
“No.”
He looked at me.
“We do this properly.”
I turned toward Mr. Collins.
“Whatever the process is, we follow it.”
He nodded.
That day was not dramatic after that.
Mostly paperwork.
Photos.
Documentation.
Mr. Collins had us photograph the condition of the house.
The nursery.
The bags of baby clothes.
The missing crib.
The equipment piled on the changing table.
We documented when my parents had entered.
What had been moved.
What Jason had brought in.
My neighbor confirmed seeing the moving truck.
By evening, I was exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with labor.
Olivia spent most of it sleeping against me.
Mom kept trying to turn the conversation back toward Jason.
“He had nowhere else.”
“He was desperate.”
“He didn’t mean any harm.”
I finally asked:
“Why didn’t you call me?”
She looked offended.
“You were in labor.”
“Exactly.”