Chapter 42
42
ROWENA
Three months later
I wake to the soft whimpers of Soleil from her bassinet beside the bed. My eyelids feel like lead weights as I pry them open, the room still shrouded in darkness. The glowing numbers on the bedside clock read 4.37p.m. Has it really been only an hour since I fed her last? I thought it was night already. But time has lost all meaning in this endless loop of diaper changes, feedings, and stolen winks of sleep.
Carefully, I scoop Soleil into my arms, her tiny body molding against my chest as I settle into the rocking chair. As she nurses, I find my mind drifting, wondering how something so natural can feel so foreign and overwhelming.
The past three months, since Soleil has been born, have been an endless blur of hours bleeding together, day and night swirling into an indistinguishable haze as I tend to Soleil’s constant needs. Sleep, when it comes, arrives in fleeting wisps—one hour here, two hours there—before her plaintive cries pierce through my exhaustion, summoning me back to the present. I feel like a ghost inhabiting the shell of my former self, my body heavy with a deep-set fatigue.
Every night, when Adrian returns home from work, he tenderly takes Soleil from my weary arms, urging me to rest. I stumble to the bedroom in a daze, collapsing onto the rumpled sheets still warm from my last interrupted attempt at slumber. The mattress embraces me as I drift off, only to awaken what seems like moments later, for a night feeding and then again after a few hours. Did I even eat dinner? My eyes squint against the early morning sun slanting through the window. Adrian’s side of the bed lies cold—I vaguely recall hearing him getting up at dawn, Soleil nestled against his chest as he gave her a bottle of my milk that I pump whenever I have extra and hummed a lullaby I didn’t recognize.
Afterward, he dropped her in her crib and crossed the room to press a light peck on the top of my head. “You can rest; she’s burped and will be out for a few more hours.”
I nodded gratefully, but a part of me ached for more than this brief interaction, more than the chaste kisses that are all he gives me these days. I know it’s too soon for intimacy—I’m still healing from the birth—but I long for the passion, the deep connection we once shared. Does he not desire me anymore now that my body has changed? The thought gnaws at me.
Adrian is being an amazing father, even if Soleil isn’t really his daughter. He’s present, helps me in any way he can, but I notice a distance expanding between us. There’s a shift in Adrian’s touch, his kisses growing lighter, briefer. I yearn for the heat of his skin against mine no matter if it’s too soon for sex. Even without going all the way, there are a million other things we could do, ways we could be intimate, but he doesn’t seem interested. It’s like the fire in his eyes for me is gone. And even the smaller intimacies, the long embraces and playful caresses, have faded, leaving an aching void in their wake.
One morning, I catch sight of my reflection in the bathroom mirror, shadows smudging the puffed skin beneath my eyes, my hair limp and tangled. When was the last time I showered? I can’t remember. Does he no longer desire this unfamiliar body, so changed from the one he once couldn’t keep his hands off? The thought pierces me, sharp and insidious. I think of the confident businesswoman I had become just before giving birth. That version of myself seems like a distant memory, buried underneath layers of doubt that whisper that I’m failing at everything—as a mother, a wife, a professional.
Sinking onto the cold tile floor, I draw my knees to my chest, hot tears streaming down my cheeks as an overwhelming sense of inadequacy crashes over me. I’m drowning in it, flailing for a foothold, for a glimmer of the woman I thought I could become. But she’s lost, subsumed by this new identity I wear like an ill-fitting coat, the weight of it threatening to suffocate me. So I retreat inward, withdrawing even from the person I want the most, fencing in the fragile remnants of my heart behind my solitude as I navigate this unfamiliar terrain alone.
More days blur together in an endless cycle around the baby’s schedule. I go through the motions mechanically, my world narrowed to the confines of our home and childcare. Life beyond these walls feels distant, almost unreal. I’m lost in a haze of exhaustion and isolation.
One morning, a ping from my phone jolts me out of my daze. It’s my business partner, checking in on the status of the project. Guilt twists in my gut as it occurs to me that I haven’t made any progress in weeks. Thank goodness I signed that contract before giving birth, buying myself a bit of grace, but they won’t wait forever. Either I start delivering or it’ll all fall through.
Noticing my struggle, Adrian suggests hiring a nanny. I refuse the offer as strongly as I secretly want to accept it, feeling like a failure for even considering time away from Soleil, even just a few hours each day. The guilt of wanting that space from my daughter is overwhelming, and I punish myself for it, refusing any help. I only tolerate the cleaning ladies because they were here before we arrived. And honestly, if it weren’t for them, we’d be living in a junkyard.
I try to rally, to summon the energy to tackle my overflowing inbox. But every time I sit down at my desk, Soleil’s cries pull me away. The constant interruptions shatter my focus, leaving me feeling scattered and ineffective. Each abandoned task feels like another mark of defeat, another shortcoming to add to the growing list.
Adrian has no idea how deep I’m spiraling. I haven’t told him I signed a deal. I accepted the offer just before going into labor and in the first few weeks, it slipped my mind. Now, I’m unsure why I never mentioned it to him. Or why I don’t seem interested in the project that consumed my life in the months leading to the birth.
In the rare moments when Soleil sleeps peacefully, I stare blankly at the walls, scrolling mindlessly through social media, desperate for a connection to the outside world. But the happy family photos and career achievements of my peers only amplify my sense of failure.
As the days stretch on, the doubts grow louder, more insistent. Am I cut out for this? What if I’m failing my daughter, depriving her of the mother she deserves?
The pressure to be perfect—the ideal mom, the supportive wife, the successful entrepreneur—feels like a weight on my chest, crushing me. I should cherish this time, not be drowning in anxiety and self-doubt.
But the joyful, competent mother I imagined myself being seems like a distant mirage, slipping further out of my reach with each passing day. In her place is a stranger—overwhelmed, uncertain, and utterly lost.
There are a few bright moments that pierce through the darkness. Like one night, I wake with a start, disoriented, to find Adrian cradling Soleil in his arms. He’s perched on the edge of our bed, our daughter snuggled up to his chest as he feeds her a bottle.
His low, soothing voice wraps around us in the moonlight as he sings “You Are My Sunshine” to her.
I lie still, not wanting to disturb the tender moment. Adrian’s eyes are fixed on Soleil’s face, his expression soft with adoration. At times like this, the weight of the world seems to lift from my shoulders.
As the final notes of the song fade away, Adrian presses a loving kiss to Soleil’s forehead. “You are my sunshine, little darling,” he whispers, “you and your mom.”
Tears well in my eyes, but for once, they’re not born of despair. My heart swells with love for this man and I think maybe there’s still a future for us.
That hope is crushed two days later when a delivery man shows up at my door, shattering the routine of another dull morning. The doorbell startles me from a sleep haze. I’m not expecting anyone. Soleil is finally napping, and I meant to get some work done but fell asleep instead.
I open the door to find a man in a generic pizza delivery uniform. The vision confuses me. I thought it was still early. Who ordered a pizza in the morning? Is it morning or have I lost track of time again ?
“Rowena Taylor?”
“Yes?”
“You’ve been served.” The man thrusts a large envelope toward me.
Confused, I take it. “There’s been a mistake. We didn’t order any pizza?—”
But the delivery guy is already walking away, disappearing into the elevator. With a sinking feeling in my gut, I tear open the envelope.
The words “Petition for Divorce” stare back at me, cold and unforgiving. There’s an official summon a week from now for Adrian and me to finalize the end of our marriage according to what was pre-arranged in our prenup. The papers slip from my numb fingers, fluttering to the floor.
I pack my and Soleil’s stuff in a blur, only the essentials, only what I can carry with me. I consider reaching out to my friends but feel too ashamed to do so. Instead, I use the money from the advance on my toy deal to check me and my daughter into an aparthotel. I go in a taxi, not wanting Sam to know where we are.
Adrian calls me that night. I pick up in a haze of fury, yelling at him that I can’t wait to be divorced and move to California and never have to deal with him again. I tell him we’ll meet at the lawyer’s office to sign the divorce papers next week. I hang up before he can put two words in.
I’m spiraling. My phone rings a second time. I expect it to be Adrian again, but it’s Nina instead. She and Hunter insist on coming over. Adrian must’ve called them. I try to refuse, but then cave in at their insistence. I don’t have the force to argue. When they arrive, I must be in an awful state because they don’t ask anything, they just offer to take care of Soleil while I shower and rest .
I accept, only to be alone in the bathroom and not have to deal with anyone. After that first day, they come over every night to help with the baby. But whenever they attempt to ask about me, about what’s going on with Adrian, I shut it down, claiming I’m tired, that I need to rest or shower or whatever will keep them off my back.
The days blur into a haze of silence and loneliness. Even when Nina and Hunter are here, I feel isolated, like I’m drifting somewhere far away. I plaster on a smile when they’re around, doing my best to seem present, but inside, I’m unraveling. I’m grateful for their help with Soleil, but each time they leave, I’m left alone with the thoughts I’ve been avoiding. Thoughts of Adrian. Thoughts of the future.
My phone buzzes again—a missed call from him. The third one today. He’s relentless. Each time my phone rings, my heart jumps in my chest, torn between the desire to hear his voice and the knowledge that I can’t afford to fall apart. Not yet. I can’t trust myself to talk to him now, not when I’m this fragile. If I hear his voice, I might shatter. And I can’t afford to splinter apart. Not when I have Soleil to think about. I need to be strong for her, to get through this week with my head on straight. If I crumble now, I’ll never make it to that lawyer’s office.
My phone buzzes again—a text this time.
Adrian
Please talk to me
Just talk, Rowena. Please. I need to explain
Explain what? Why he changed his mind about us? Why he wants a divorce? Dread sets deep into my gut. I don’t want to hear his explanations. I can’t. I’m not ready .
I stare at the screen, my thumb hovering over the virtual keyboard. The urge to respond is overwhelming, but I know what will happen if I do. One word from him, and I’ll lose the fragile grip I’ve been holding onto. My mind keeps flashing back to the divorce papers. The stark finality of it all. If I let him back in now, if I allow myself to feel what I’m holding at bay, I’ll break apart completely. I need to keep my distance to protect myself, to survive this. For Soleil.
I finally type a reply.
Rowena
Please stop calling me, Adrian
Not because I don’t want to talk to you, I know we need to. But because if I do, I’m afraid I won’t be able to keep it together. I need space to figure things out, to be strong enough to face everything that’s coming. For Soleil
Please. Just give me some time
I hit send, my heart sinking as I do, then fibrillating as another ping pierces the silence.
Adrian
I’ll do as you ask
But I’m always here if you change your mind
“It’s not me who changed her mind,” I say, staring at the screen, his last words blurring as fresh tears roll down my cheeks.
The silence that follows is worse than his calls, but it’s the silence I need right now. A silence where I can rebuild the pieces of myself, one fragile sliver at a time.
Adrian is true to his word, and I don’t hear from him again. After a week of this hollow existence, emptier even than the half-life I was leading before, I leave Soleil with Nina and Hunter to go to my appointment with Adrian and the lawyers.
After feeling loved and desired by him, then the opposite—rejected and repulsive. After seeing him being the perfect dad, calling me and Soleil his sunshines, and then receiving divorce papers not two days later. Now I stare into his dark eyes as we sit alone in this cold room, cleared of all the leeches with him asking me why I spilled coffee on our divorce papers, and I’ve no idea what to say.