Answer:
was in Oaxaca, Mexico, when things got bad. A Global Level 2, travel restrictions, exponentially growing panic. I decided to cut my trip short, afraid it would become increasingly difficult to fly back, and knowing that, once back, I’d need to self-quarantine for two weeks.
I picked up my suitcase at the baggage claim and walked outside to where my husband and son waited to drive me home. No hugs. No kisses. An exhausted, sad smile hidden behind the mask I wore. As soon as we got home, I dragged my suitcase up to the third floor. Our guest room; my quarantine. My husband and son would quarantine in our home with me, but I’d do my best to keep my distance and wear a mask in case I’d been exposed. It had already been 7 days since I’d hugged my son; 14 more.
Step-by-step explanation: