The first thing that broke me wasn’t hearing another woman’s voice.
It was hearing my husband complain about the pictures I sent him of our daughter.
« She sends them all day, » Elon said through my phone. « Like I don’t have anything better to do. »
I looked down at Sophie in my arms: three months old, half asleep after her bottle.
That afternoon, I’d sent Elon three pictures: three.
« She sends them all day. »
In one, Sophie had smiled in her sleep.
I thought her father would want to see it.
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