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Selfish.
For wanting her baby to come home to something that had not already been taken and reassigned to someone Patricia loved better.
Evan stood, lifted the loosened side panel, and carried it past Mia.
She had to step back to keep it from hitting her stomach.
He did not apologize.
He went down the hallway, down the stairs, and out the front door.
Cold air came in behind him.
Mia followed because there are moments when a person knows that if she stays still, something inside her will break permanently.
She moved slowly down the stairs, one hand on the banister, one hand under the curve of her belly.
By the time she reached the front porch, Evan had the panel in the truck bed.
The pickup was parked near the mailbox.
The small American flag mounted beside the porch snapped hard in the wind.
The driveway was glazed with ice from the storm that had passed overnight.
The porch step glittered in places where the sun had not reached.
“Evan,” Mia said.
He did not turn.
“Please,” she said. “Please don’t do this.”
He loaded another piece.
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