Carol was outside Walmart, loading bags into her car. Her infant still strapped to her chest in a Baby Bjorn. It was mid-morning on a Wednesday, the last week of her maternity leave. She had dropped her oldest daughter at school and then not knowing what to do with herself had driven 40 miles out of town to wander the store. Picking up plates, bags of candy, a box of Lucky Charms. The sound of her phone ringing startled her and she fumbled with the final bag before finding she had stashed her phone in her back pocket instead of in her purse.
"I just wanted to say that I am sorry." The voice said. The baby asleep on her chest, a voice so familiar it needed no introduction. She had no words. They had spoken since the horrible night a decade ago when he had confessed his affair and she had packed a bag and walked out into the hot summer night. Two months of coach surfing and finally a plane ticket to San Francisco where she had lived the next decade, re-building what he has taken from her.
