He had come with an application.
It was in the inside pocket of his jacket and I could see the corner of it, because he had not bothered to put it away properly — he had been holding it in the lift.
An emergency application for custody.
A woman working three jobs. No health cover. No support network — the word is on page two. Who had just driven herself to a hospital, through red lights, at five in the morning, while in labour.
He was going to use the fact that I gave birth alone as evidence that I could not be trusted with the baby.
He made me alone. And then he came to the hospital at twenty past six in the morning to hold it against me.
He had a solicitor waiting in the car park. I found that out later. Somebody had rung him the moment I was admitted, because he still had my name flagged on something at that hospital through the insurance he had cancelled.
