He’d never know that for the first two months of his life, I’d cried nearly every day. He’d survive this, right? He’d never know that we’d spent a miserable few days in the car. If it was only me, I would have given up months ago. A sob mixed with a hiccup and the tears flowed until my tires were stopped, the car was in park and I was hugging the steering wheel, wishing it could hug me back. We were probably only a mile from our final destination and the walls were beginning to crumble. How long could a person hold on to the end of their rope before their grip slipped? How long could a woman hold herself together before she cracked? Apparently, the answer was from New York to Montana. My own sob escaped, joining my son’s, and I eased off the highway for the shoulder. They fell down my cheeks and I couldn’t swipe them away fast enough. “I’m sorry,” I whispered as tears blurred my vision. Through the rearview and the mirror above his seat, his little face was scrunched and flushed and his fists balled. The crying stopped for a split second so he could refill his lungs, then he just kept on wailing. My new boss had warned me that this road wasn’t on a map yet so she’d given me directions instead. I swiped up my phone and checked the GPS. Maybe we’d been lost since the morning I’d driven out of the city.
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