I ran to forget. Here, in motion, I was only aware of the early morning light glinting off the water, the beat of my running shoes against asphalt, the rhythm of my breath. There was nothing ahead of me, and the past lagged far behind. I lost all sense of time and, blissfully, of self. There was no me. And there was nobody else, either — no Aaron, no Evie, no Nathan and no Madison. But then the buzz of the phone strapped to my arm yanked me out of the flow, and the low sun emerged from the clouds as if rousing from sleep.

I slowed my pace as I removed my phone from the strap, nodding at a woman jogging toward me. A recreational runner, a young mom dressed in blue Lululemon crops and tee, trying to burn off pregnancy fat as she pushed her baby in a Thule Jogging stroller. As she passed, her child mewed, and I immediately felt the tingle of letdown. Evie would want to breastfeed as soon as I got home. She was there with Aaron now; they had both been asleep when I left the house in the morning twilight. Evie's eyelids had fluttered when I checked on her before leaving, her tiny hands grasping something in her dream. She had turned her face toward me when I kissed her cheek.