There was a note on the front door to walk to the back yard and come in the back (kitchen) door. The yard had been cut and the smell reminded me of the better days of my youth. Hibiscus shrubs were full and blazing with their colorful blossoms. The sound of falling water from the fountain gave a comforting feel to her home. The note on the back door said for me to come in, that she was in her shower.The home was empty. I guessed the younger ones were at friends’ homes and that the oldest, K, was at work. The baby, I learned later, was at daycare. I walked back to her bedroom and entered it. M was sitting there in a silky gown finishing her make up. Through the material of the gown, I could see the black straps of her bra. I imagined it would be as equally revealing as the one she wore the Friday we met.I said hello as I bent over and kissed her neck. She stood up to hug and kiss my lips. The bra was every bit as I expected, if not more. This was a partial cup thing that. I didn't care what our baby looked like. I did care that Marie pulled her daughter off of her breast and told the doctor and nurses to "Get rid of this animal!"Now, admittedly, I may not have been the sharpest tool in the shed at the time, but this slap at our daughter felt like it was a rejection of me, too. If you didn't think this hit me in the gut, think again.Once Marie was allowed to go home after the standard 24 hour post-partum testing, things got worse when I was putting little Kitty—I gave her the fitting name after my wife had rejected her—into her car seat to come home with us. Marie didn't want an "animal" in the same car with her.I begged Marie. "She's our daughter, hon. Our daughter. She needs us."She shook her head. "That thing is not coming into our house. Never!"There was little to do but shrug. "Will you let me drop her off somewhere?"Getting an unhappy-sounding grunt from the woman who'd been, up until our daughter came out with cat ears, the light of my life,.
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