Chapter 7: Discharge Day

The hospital sent Eric home on Thursday morning.

I did not wait for permission.

I was standing in the main lobby at ten, shaved and in a clean shirt, when the elevator doors opened.

A nurse pushed him out in a wheelchair, his left leg stuck out straight in its blue cast.

Melanie walked beside him with his backpack.

She saw me and stopped.

Eric saw me a second later.

"Dad!"

He threw himself forward so hard the chair rocked.

The nurse caught the handles.

I crossed the lobby and dropped to my knees, and he wrapped both arms around my neck and held on.

"Dad, you left."

"I didn't leave, buddy. They wouldn't let me in. I was right outside."

"I heard you."

"I know."

"Mom said you were mad."

"I'm not mad at you. I could never be mad at you."

He pressed his face into my collar and cried, and I put my hand on the back of his head.

Around us the lobby had gone quiet.

A security guard watched from the desk.

A woman with a toddler slowed down to stare.

"Eric," Melanie said. "Let go of him."

"No."

"Eric."

"He's my dad!"

"He is not."

I looked up.

She was standing very straight with the backpack in both hands, and her voice carried across the whole lobby.

"He isn't your father, baby. He's a man who lived in our house. I should have told you a long time ago."

The nurse inhaled.

The woman with the toddler pulled her child close.

Eric's arms tightened until they hurt.

"That's not true."

"It is."

"Melanie, stop," I said.

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