Page 118 of When a Soul Cries

She hesitated. “Because that’s where we’re staying.”

“That ain’t what I asked.” I glanced toward the diaper bag sitting near her feet before looking back at the road. “What do you need from there?”

Sol didn’t answer.

I waited.

“Sol?”

Her lips pressed together. She looked down at the baby, and when she finally spoke, her voice was so low I almost missed it.

“Nothing.”

My eyebrows pulled together. “What you mean, nothing?”

She swallowed hard. “I mean there’s nothing there for me to go back and get.”

My eyes dropped toward the diaper bag again.

A sick feeling settled in my stomach.

“That’s it?”

Sol’s hand stopped moving against the baby’s back.

She didn’t have to ask what I meant. Her eyes stayed lowered as she slowly nodded.

“Her diapers. A couple outfits. Wipes.” Her voice grew thinner with every word. “Her cup. A few little things.”

I waited for her to tell me what belonged to her.

She didn’t.

“And your stuff?” I asked, even though something in my chest already knew the answer.

Sol finally looked at me.

The embarrassment in her face pissed me off—not at her, but at whatever had taught this woman that having nothing left was something she should be ashamed of.

“I’m wearing it.”

My hands tightened around the steering wheel.

For a few seconds, I couldn’t say shit.

That diaper bag wasn’t what she’d packed for a night at a motel.

That diaper bag was what was left of their life.

I had already known things were bad.

I hadn’t known they were *that* bad.

Sol shifted the baby carefully against her chest before turning her face toward the passenger window. “I still need to go back to the motel,” she said quietly.

I glanced over at her, confused. “For what?”

Her fingers moved slowly over the baby’s back. “Because that’s where we’re staying.”