I should have refused again.
I should have let the job collapse if necessary. Instead, I convinced myself responsibility meant going. Fear disguised itself as duty, and I trusted my family to protect the people I loved.
I called my mother.
She arrived with Ashley by noon while I packed my duffel bag in the kitchen feeling strangely guilty. I reminded them repeatedly that Emily needed food, water, rest, and help with Noah, and I pointed directly at the hospital instructions lying on the counter.
My mother touched my cheek and promised my wife and son would be safe. Ashley rolled her eyes and accused me of acting like nobody else loved them properly.
Before leaving, I went into the bedroom one final time.
Emily looked exhausted, but she still tried comforting me instead of herself. I kissed her forehead, kissed Noah’s tiny fist, and promised I would return quickly. I had no idea that peaceful moment would become the dividing line between my old life and everything waiting afterward.
