“I want to see my daughter.”

“Marcus will drive you,” my father said.

He stood up too, walking me to the door of the boardroom.

“You did well today, Evelyn,” he murmured.

“Your mother would have been proud.”

I didn’t answer.

I didn’t want to think about what my mother would have thought of the wreck my life had become over the last three years.

I went down to the garage and got back into the car.

The rain was heavier now, drumming against the roof of the SUV.

As we drove back toward the suburbs, the streetlights began to flicker on, reflecting in the wet asphalt.

When we pulled into my driveway, the house was dark except for the light in the nursery window.

I walked inside and kicked off my boots in the hallway.

The smell of lavender and baby formula was thick in the air.

I walked up the stairs, my steps quiet on the carpet.

In the nursery, Maisie was lying in her crib, her tiny fists bunched up near her cheeks.

Her chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm.