4
Abby was perched on the side of the hospital bed in a pair of frayed maternity jeans and a bulky sweater, staring at the closed door. She glanced at the small bag, packed and sitting on the chair Eric had sat in all night. Each time she had woken from a disturbing and unrestful sleep, he had still been there. Once, he’d been asleep, but he’d opened his eyes as if he could feel her staring at him.
He’d held her hand and kissed her, making her feel safe, but she couldn’t shake the anxiety building in her chest. It ached as if she were coming down with something, but she wasn’t. She had a baby. She had a husband. She had a daughter. And now she had to go home.
The door was pushed open, and her husband strode in, all cocky and arrogant, heading straight for her. “What’s going on?” he said
