Chapter Twenty
Brooke — Earlier that morning
“Honey, I’m worried about you,” I say, trailing behind Matthew as he hovers in the bedroom, lining up snacks and drinks on the nightstand like he’s prepping me for hibernation.
I love him for it. I really do. But it’s also starting to drive me a little insane. I’m more than two weeks postpartum. I can walk. It’s itchy as hell down there, sure, but walking to the kitchen won’t kill me.
The ointment, which he insists on helping me apply, has definitely helped with the healing. I’d never admit it out loud, but the man is weirdly gentle with me. Still, this whole hovering thing? It’s starting to feel like a cage.
“Is Doritos okay? We’re out of Cocoa Puffs,” he says, still facing the nightstand.
“It’s fine,” I reply. “Will you look at me?”
He freezes for half a second before straightening, but he doesn’t turn around.
“You were supposed to have today off,” I remind him, my voice sharper than I mean it to be. “And now they’re calling you in?”
“It’s an emergency,” he says flatly.
“Matthew.” His name comes out hard this time, and that does it. He stops, shoulders tensing, but still doesn’t turn.
“Matthew,” I repeat, softer.
He finally turns around. And God… he looks exhausted. There are shadows under his eyes that weren’t there before, his jaw tight like he’s holding back more than just words.
“We have to talk,” I say quietly.
His shoulders slump like I’ve just punched the air out of him. He takes a step toward me, but not close enough to touch. “I know,” he says finally. “I know. I’ll be home soon and then… we’ll talk. I promise.”
I nod slowly, because pushing him when he looks like that would feel cruel. “Fine.”
He leans down, kisses Penny’s head, then my cheek, breath warm against my skin. “I love you,” he murmurs, and before I can say it back he’s gone.
Penny fusses in my arms. She feels bigger already, heavier, more aware and Matthew’s not here to watch her grow. I huff, trying to shove the worry down, to stop the pit in my stomach from widening into something that eats the rest of the day.
I haven’t even had a proper chance to tell him about the nanny plan Zara and I came up with.
We decided to share one nanny to save money, since Thiago and Penny are basically the same age, it made practical sense, but finding someone who’s experienced with two infants is harder than I thought.
Either the candidates want full-time salaries, or they have the personality of a brick.
Every phone call ends with me feeling more exhausted.
Sure, I could text him. And I did. His reply was a single thumbs-up. That’s it. I make a face at Penny.
“Your daddy’s being ridiculous,” I tell her, exaggerating the words like she’s old enough to understand. “He better fess up before Mommy gets violent.”
She hiccups like she agrees, and I bounce her gently against my chest. “Yeah, she will. Yes, she will,” I coo, my voice soft and animated. She doesn’t care, of course, just blinks her eyes up at me like a very unimpressed potato.
The morning actually starts out okay. Penny falls asleep not long after Matthew leaves, and I even get a whole two hours to scroll through job listings online. I’m mid–daydream about a work-from-home gig that doesn’t involve human interaction when her hungry cry splits the quiet.
Feeding time.
Halfway through, she decides to have the mother of all blowouts.
Warm, wet, catastrophic. It’s everywhere, her back, my shirt, my chest. I gag, because of course I do.
Becoming a mom doesn’t mean that a baby’s shit no longer stinks.
Grimacing, I strip us both down. I cut my shirt straight through the front cause no way am I risking getting some of that radioactive shit in my face or hair and head straight for the shower.
Once we’re both clean and no longer smell like baby poo, I wrap her in a soft towel, dry myself off, and wrestle us into clean, warm clothes. She smells like baby lotion again. Peace is temporarily restored.
I’m heading to the kitchen for a snack, Penny warm and heavy in my arms, when a sharp knock at the door cuts through the moment.
I frown, shifting her against my shoulder, and walk toward it.
When I swing the door open, Sheera’s standing there with Raina bundled in the familiar fuzzy pink blanket she always brings. Her cheeks are flushed from the cold, hair pulled into a messy bun, and she gives me a look that says yep, it’s one of those days before I even say hello.
“Hey,” I say, automatically switching into baby voice. “Did you guys come for a playdate?”
Sheera just raises a brow at me, not saying a word. Right. Not a kid date. A mom date. I nod slowly, like I’m letting the realization sink in.
“Come on,” I whisper, lowering my voice since Raina’s clearly asleep. “We can put them in the crib. It’s a twin one anyway.”
Sheera steps inside, kicking off her boots at the door, while I keep gently bouncing Penny. Her eyelids are already drooping, her warm little body melting against mine, and by the time we reach the nursery, her eyes are fully closed.
I carefully lay her down next to Raina, who’s curled on her side like the world’s smallest cinnamon roll. I adjust the baby monitor, triple check that it’s on, and tiptoe out of the room.
Sheera’s already claimed the sofa by the time I return, letting out a dramatic exhale like a woman who has a lot to get off her chest.
I glance at the kitchen counter, debating. Wine would be great right about now. But since we’re both breastfeeding, I bypass that idea and grab the family-size pack of Oreos instead. Priorities.
I plop down beside her, tear the top open, and set the pack between us. I take one; she wordlessly reaches for another, twisting it apart the way everyone does, licking the cream first.
I don’t ask anything. I just give her space.
After two Oreos, she grabs a third, stares at it for a second, then blurts out, “Byron regrets her.”
I turn toward her slowly, resting my weight on the arm of the couch, mirroring her position.
She presses her lips together, shaking her head a little. “He hasn’t said it. But now that the newborn phase has passed, he’s finally realizing just how much his life has to change because of her.”
She lets out a soft, bitter laugh and shrugs. “He hired a nanny. And he’s currently mapping out the cross-country RV trip we should take this summer.”
I blink at her. “What about Raina?”
“That’s what I said,” she mutters, dragging an half Oreo through the cream, just to keep her hand busy. “His answer? ‘We’ll figure something out.’” She looks at me, eyes sharp but tired. “Like, how do you figure out where to abandon your three-month-old while you drive around the country?”
I don’t say anything. I just let her talk, because I can see the dam’s about to crack.
Sheera shakes her head, her voice low. “You know what gets me? He’s not a bad guy.
He’s not cruel. He just… wants his old life back.
He wants road trips and dinners and sex whenever the mood strikes.
And I-” Her throat works, the words wobbling now.
“I don’t think he gets that I can’t just pick up and go anymore.
That I don’t want to, not like before. I want to be with her. ”
Her eyes flick toward the baby monitor on the table. The little green light pulses softly, steady and constant. “It’s like we’re on two different maps. I’m here, in real life, and he’s… still tracing routes on the fantasy one.”
She laughs again, but it’s brittle this time. “He thinks the nanny solves everything. Like I didn’t go through pregnancy at forty-five. Of course, it’s not going to be the same as when I was twenty. I’m older. He’s older.”
I don’t even have to ask the question out loud, she must see it on my face.
“It’s not like he’s forcing me,” she says quietly.
“But when I had my first two, I was looking forward to the six-week mark. I was excited for it. This time… I didn’t even care.
And to be honest, neither did he.” She lets out a shaky exhale and gestures at her body with a humourless little smile.
“I can’t really blame him. This wouldn’t turn me on either. ”
I lean forward, voice soft but steady. “You just had a kid. Give yourself time. And if he-”
A sharp knock at the door cuts me off, followed by the sound of keys turning in the lock.
Chloe walks in like she owns the place, eyebrows arching as her gaze lands on me, Sheera, and the half-eaten pack of Oreos. “Having a little girls’ day, are we?” she drawls.
I force myself to stand. “Chloe, this is Sheera. From my Lamaze class. Sheera this is my mother-in-law, Chloe.”
Chloe’s eyes sweep over Sheera, her mouth curving just slightly. Sheera gives a small wave from the sofa, unfazed. But then Chloe leans in toward me, her voice pitched as if it’s a whisper, but it isn’t.
“Isn’t she a little old?”
My eyes widen, warning flashing across my face.
Sheera rises gracefully from the sofa, smile as sharp as glass. “What can I say?” she replies sweetly. “My husband couldn’t keep his hands off me.” She lifts her wrist and pretends to check a watch that isn’t there. “I should get going.”
“Sheera, I’m so sorry,” I whisper, following her toward the nursery.
She shakes her head, letting out a short laugh. “What a bitch. Anyway, I really should go. I kinda stormed out after the whole RV fight and…” She trails off.
“Talk to him,” I say softly. She nods, so I add, “without yelling.”
She makes a face. “I’ll try.”
I smile. “That’s fair.”
She picks up Raina, managing to get her strapped to her chest without waking her.
Chloe is in the kitchen when we return, pouring herself a glass of wine. We both ignore her. When the door closes behind Sheera, Chloe pounces, voice sharp as a blade.
“So this is what you do while my son works himself ragged because of your family?”
I turn around slowly, heat rising in my chest. “Keep your voice down,” I hiss. “My daughter is sleeping. And secondly, she’s his family too.”