At three in the morning, I sat on the nursery floor with one baby on each side of me and half a granola bar in my hand. Brandon had not called or asked about them once.
I almost messaged him for help, but deleted the words. I had already asked while he stood beside me. I would not beg now that he had chosen to leave.
The next morning, he posted a photograph from the lake.
“Finally getting the peace and quiet I deserve,” the caption read.
I took a screenshot.
Apparently, Brandon deserved rest, while I deserved whatever was left.
PART 2: I STOPPED PROTECTING HIM
My sister Summer called after seeing the post.
“Where is he?”
“Fishing.”
“With you and the babies?”
“No.”
She immediately asked whether I was alone. I tried to tell her everything was fine, but she refused to accept the lie.
“I’m coming over.”
Thirty minutes later, Summer arrived with groceries. She looked at my stained shirt, the feeding schedule scribbled on an envelope, and the pile of bottles.
“Have you eaten?”
“Half a granola bar.”
She did not criticize the house. She simply asked, “What do you need first?”
“A second version of me.”
“I’m serious.”
“Wash the bottles. Then hold Ivy so I can shower.”
