“Maybe I will.” Before I left, spurred on by Michael’s relentless gnawing on my covered nipple, his gums hurting me even through the layers of clothing, I bought a small yellow candle labelled “Chamomile/Honey Candle. For relaxation and soothing relief from stress.” I paid my $6.95 and said goodbye to Anne, put Michael in his stroller, and ushered him home.

I fed him, watching as he sucked eagerly, frantically, emptying both breasts. “Poor little guy. I didn’t know you’d get so hungry already.” Michael’s feeding and sleeping schedule were a mystery to me—I relied on books and Internet sites to tell me what to do with my child.

When he’d fallen asleep, his lips still wrapped around my nipple, I gingerly detached and laid him down gently into the bassinet. I lit the candle and placed it on the coffee table, watching its flame and breathing in the gentle scent.

As soon as my mind turned to John, I went downstairs to the basement and brought up the new basket I was working on. I’d promised myself that whenever John crept into my thoughts, I would not waste the time in a daze over him—which would have been quite simple to do. At least I would be productive—wash dishes, empty the diaper pail, fold clean laundry.

Now I was occupied by the memory of this morning, when John had come to pick up a few more items. I had let him in and told him not to be loud because Michael was asleep.

“Wow, does this boy just eat and sleep all day long?” he asked, putting on a false smile and a high pitch in his voice.

I shrugged and walked into the kitchen, where I was reorganizing the pantry. He followed me in and leaned against the counter, watching me toss out expired boxes of Raisin Bran, strawberry PopTarts, and Oreo cookies—all the things that were his particular favorites.

John chose his battles wisely, and he did so this time as well. “You know,” he began, ignoring the unopened package that sailed into the trash can, “I’m staying at my parents’ house now. We should talk about what happens to this house.”

“You can have it. Michael and I are moving in with Aliyah eventually, as soon as she gets a bigger apartment. Should be about another month or two. You could put this place on the market now.” Pfomp! A box of Grapenuts landed in the can.

John swallowed audibly. “Why don’t you just live here, Hanan? Aliyah can move in with you. What does she pay for rent? $900 a month?”

“About.”

“Tell her to pay $600, and I’ll put in the other $600 for the mortgage. And I’ll give you extra money for Michael too, since you probably won’t be able to work.”