I picked up the Welcome Home, Daddy sign, folded it once down the middle, and tucked it into the bottom basket of the stroller.
Then I put both hands on the handlebar.
I walked past him before he could finish.
“You should read every page before you call anyone,” I said. “Especially the parts about the forged signature.”
“Helen—”
I walked past him before he could finish.
The airport doors slid open, and sunlight hit my face as I pushed my daughters toward the parking lot, without their dad, yes, but with a whole lot more stability now that he was finally gone.
