"You think I won't do it?" Corbin snarled, his hand closing at the collar of my shirt.
"Corbin, please—" I said. My voice was small. Zizi whimpered in the sling against my chest.
"Don't please me." He shoved. My hip hit the sink and dishes rattled. I tasted metal. The baby coughed.
"Stop!" I grabbed the counter. "You're—you're hurting him."
"He's yours. You keep him in place." He spat the last word like it was an order.
Zizi went still. I could feel the baby's forehead against my jaw. I kept my hands where Corbin couldn't twist them. My other hand slid back, fingers hunting the seam inside my apron.
"Gracie, I'm telling you," Corbin said. "You think you can walk out and everything's fine? You'll starve. Who will take you? Who will take him?"
"I will," I said. I pulled the folded envelope free. Three hundred and fifty in hand-crumpled bills. Wedding savings. Two years of skipping the extra mangoes at the market, the late nights with the sewing line, hiding coins in pockets.
Corbin's hand tightened on my shirt. "Where did you get that?"
"From the jar." I swallowed. "We put it there for paper plates. For Zizi's first month."
"Don't lie." He shoved again. I slipped on a wet patch and my knee hit the floor. For a second the kitchen blurred.
"Please," I whispered to Zizi. "Go to sleep, baby."
Corbin
