Chapter 5 - THE THINGS THEY SAVED
Brianna arrived at the hospital cafeteria wearing sunglasses despite the gray Portland morning.
She sat across from Laura but did not remove her coat.
“I didn’t know they were going to sell everything,” she said.
“You photographed my property.”
“Dad told me you’d agreed to move out.”
“While Mia was in intensive care?”
“He said you needed a fresh start after the hospital.”
Laura pushed the screenshots across the table. “You listed my cardigan five days before the rent was due.”
Brianna looked at the floor. “Mom asked me to start clearing space.”
“For what?”
“My lease really did end. I couldn’t afford the renewal. They said I could have the basement if I helped sort your things.”
“You knew I was coming back.”
“I knew you wanted to.”
Laura waited.
Brianna’s defensive expression weakened.
“They said Mia would stay upstairs,” she admitted. “Just until you got stable.”
“I was stable until they made me homeless.”
“They don’t see it that way.”
“How do they see it?”
Brianna removed her sunglasses. Her eyes were swollen.
“Mom still talks about what happened after Mia was born.”
Laura leaned back.
Eight years earlier, postpartum depression had left her unable to sleep, eat, or trust herself alone with her newborn. She had voluntarily entered a treatment program for six weeks while Helen and Robert cared for Mia.
Laura had recovered. She had worked, parented, attended therapy, and built a life.
Her parents still described those six weeks as the time they had saved Mia.
“They think the divorce and the hospital will push you back there,” Brianna said. “Mom said this time they wouldn’t wait for you to ask for help.”
“So they took my housing.”
“They thought you’d agree once Mia got better.”
Laura studied her sister. “Where’s Clover?”
“In the upstairs room.”
The answer hurt more than if the rabbit had been sold.
“And her awards?”
“On the bookshelf. Mom kept her clothes too. She bought new bedding.”
Laura closed her eyes.
Their belongings had not been treated equally. Laura’s life had been sold or donated. Mia’s life had been transferred upstairs.
Brianna reached across the table but stopped before touching her.
“There’s a binder,” she said. “Mom keeps it in the desk. Hospital forms, school contacts, copies of Mia’s insurance card.”
“Why?”
Brianna shook her head.
“I thought you’d signed something.”
Laura stood.
“What kind of something?”
May you like
Brianna looked toward the cafeteria entrance, frightened that Robert might appear.
“Something that would let them keep her.”
