The door is open and my mother has one foot inside and one foot outside in the cold, October rain. The raindrops make tip-tapping noises on the fire escape.

“Please,” I beg, sobbing. “Please don’t leave.” I’m kneeling on the linoleum floor and clinging to her pant leg. My eyes are red from crying and I’m still in my pyjamas.

“I have to,” she insists. “I have to go back to work.”

“But I don’t know how to take care of a baby!” I cry some more. My week-old son sighs in his sleep in the other room. My mother gently pries my fingers open and drives back to Ontario.