“Your mom made me feel like I was failing.”
“Then she was wrong.”
Natalie looked at Miles sleeping in back.
“I just want him to grow up in a home where people are kind to each other.”
I squeezed her fingers.
“That’s exactly the home we’re going to give him.”
A Different Kind of Family
Our home gradually felt peaceful again over the following weeks. I negotiated flexible hours and used my remaining parental leave. We made uncomplicated meals, and I learned to soothe Miles on difficult evenings so Natalie could sleep longer.
There were still dishes stacked in the sink, clothes waiting to be folded, and mornings when we both felt utterly overwhelmed. Yet laughter and quiet moments returned, and Natalie no longer felt she had to earn permission to recover.
Beverly phoned repeatedly. First she claimed we’d misunderstood her motives; later she blamed Natalie for turning me against her. I ended those calls without fighting.
