Emma stepped forward. Then another step. She climbed into the car carefully, clutching Noah with her whole body, as if the seat might disappear. Michael sat across from her, leaving space.
The car moved.
Emma watched every street through the window, memorizing escape routes. Noah began to cry.
“He’s hungry,” she said, guilt thick in her voice. “I gave him water, but—”
“Ethan,” Michael leaned forward. “First pharmacy. We need formula, bottles, diapers. Everything. And food.”
Then, to Emma:
“Anything you want.”
She stared at him, confused.
“We eat whatever shows up,” she said.
Michael swallowed hard, thinking of the lavish breakfast he’d barely touched that morning.
At the pharmacy, he felt ridiculous among aisles of baby products. He didn’t know brands or sizes. He only knew every second mattered.
“I need everything for a newborn,” he told the clerk. “And for a little girl. Clothes. Shoes. The best you have. Price doesn’t matter.”
Emma stared at the bags when he returned.
“All that… for us?”
“For you,” he said. “To start.”
At a gas station, Michael prepared the formula with trembling hands, testing it on his wrist like he’d seen once. When he handed the bottle to Emma, she held it like gold.