Chapter Ten
Ten
Exhaustion seeps into my bones.
My arms burn under the weight of the diaper bag, my exhaustion just as heavy as the thousand necessities I'm carrying to keep a tiny human alive.
Each inch I take from the car through the front door is a reminder of the load I carry.
Mason, Anna nestled in his arms like a prop for a family portrait, strides ahead.
“You’re here!” Margaret rushes forward, arms already outstretched, reaching for the baby.
Gary swoops in to take the gear from me.
Relief hits the moment I step into the warmth of my in-laws’ house, into their quiet care.
For the next week, their help will be freely given. No need to beg. No need to plead.
Two people giving without expectation.
Looking at the little bundle wrapped in her grandmother’s arms, I can’t help but think back to the first moment I saw Anna. All the fears I’d carried about motherhood, about becoming my mother, dissolved in an instant: I knew I’d do anything to keep her safe. Give her everything I could.
She became my focus. My salvation. Any hope I’d had that Anna might bridge the divide between Mason and me vanished during the long months that followed.
A year of pregnancy and childbirth, set against the backdrop of a global pandemic, stripped us bare. With COVID raging and nowhere to hide, we were trapped in the same space, again and again. What had once been easy to ignore became impossible to miss.
Especially now, as I meet the green eyes I’ve spent countless nights dreaming about.
James stands by the window, silhouetted against the pale winter light, a steaming mug cradled in his hands, wearing worn jeans and a hoodie.
His gaze drops, moving over me slowly. I know what he's seeing—the way my body has changed since Anna, how my clothes fit differently now.
From the way his jaw tightens, he's not unaffected.
The moment stretches long enough to pulse through me, everywhere.
“James, come meet Anna.” Ivy’s voice calls, and I finally tear my eyes away from him. She’s watching, a hint of something flashing in her stark blue eyes.
The family hasn’t gotten together since last Christmas.
COVID forced Tom and Jules to withdraw for a while, focusing on their patients and the mechanics of being doctors while caring for the boys when their school closed.
I begged Mason to leave D.C., retreat here during the worst of lockdown.
He wouldn’t hear of leaving the city, as if our proximity would magically make it reopen.
We stayed, with only silence and the news filling the space.
Margaret and Gary visited after Anna was born, but they’d sequestered themselves for weeks beforehand to ensure they weren’t sick upon meeting her.
Ivy didn’t come, but that isn’t surprising.
“Is Anna a family name?” James asks.
“Annabelle. After my grandmother,” Mason beams. His smile for the audience never falters, though he slept through the 2 AM and 5 AM feedings last night. And the night before. And every night since Anna was born.
“I see,” James says, and something in his tone makes me glance up. He’s smiling. Sly. “Annabelle. Not Anna Karenina?”
A smile escapes before I can stop it.
That’s why ultimately I gave in. People think Anna Karenina is tragic. But to me, she’s brave. A woman who refused to play by the rules. Who wanted more. Who refused to settle.
Everything I could want for my daughter.
But I can’t say any of that. And I can’t think about the warmth pooling in my chest at how quickly he caught the reference.
Instead, I pivot: “How has COVID affected your projects?”
“Like everything else, we were delayed. But one of my favorites finally broke ground. I helped design a new music hall along the harbor.” He pauses and takes a sip from his mug.
“The goal is to create a state-of-the-art amphitheater where artists of every genre can play without fighting the acoustics of a massive stadium.”
“Even country artists?” I quip, remembering our debate last winter.
“The real test will be pouring some smoky R&B through the space.” His voice drops on those words, and for a moment, I’m back at that fire pit, the moon shining bright, words loaded with meaning.
And I make the utterly unforgivable mistake of looking at him.
That smile.
That devastating smile that hits like a memory and makes my insides twist.
Jules appears from nowhere, throwing her arms around me. “Who are you kidding? You love R&B. Why are you pretending to listen to country?”
“Okay, okay,” I laugh, trying to play it off. But the heat flaring up my neck gives me away. “Maybe I have a secret love for R&B.”
“I knew it.” James chuckles, eyes dancing. “Any other secrets you want to share, Sydney?”
I half-hide in my oversized turtleneck, hands tucked deep into the sleeves as if that might stop the heat blooming in my chest. Anna’s small coo draws my attention.
A welcome reminder of what matters now, of the tiny person who depends on me entirely.
I feel the tight, thin rubber band gripping my wrist. Angling my body away from the others, I pull it hard.
Once. Twice. Three times. The sharp sting grounds me.
Calls me back. Snaps me back to my reality.
Mason’s seen it. I know he has. I’ve done it right in front of him, but if he’s wondered what I’m doing, he hasn’t asked. He looks past it as he looks past me.
“Syd, it’s honestly unfair how good you look already.” Ivy’s hand lands on my arm.
“Ah, thanks.”
There’s a hint of something behind her smile, looking a little too forced. Is that sarcasm? Or just guilt playing tricks on me?
Not that I care about bouncing back. But it’s hard not to compare myself to her. She doesn’t have dark circles under her eyes or stretch marks across her stomach. Today, in her cigarette pants and silk blouse, she looks effortlessly put together, while I have spit-up and dried milk on my sweater.
Fuck. It’s going to be a long week.
Her voice dips to a conspiratorial whisper, loud enough for those nearest to hear, and says, “Damn, your boobs are out of this world.”
Heat flashes up my neck, pooling in my cheeks. I don’t have to look up to know both men heard her. I can feel it. One of them is absolutely staring while the other is doing everything he can to look anywhere else.
“Well… nursing will do that.”
“Guess that’s one thing I can’t complain about,” Mason snickers, like he’s landed the joke of the century. He bumps his elbow against James. “Perks of fatherhood, right?”
James says nothing. I’m not even sure he’s breathing.
“Well, this has been fun. Come on, let’s get some coffee.” Jules wraps her arm around mine. “You’ve earned yours spiked.”
“I’m going for a run.” James jumps at the escape. He’s already halfway up the stairs before anyone responds.
I let Jules pull me into the kitchen, away from the awkwardness. This cabin has always been a refuge, where laughter echoes and fires burn low into the night, while snow blankets the world in something soft and safe. The first place I truly belonged.
But now? Everything feels… off.
“You look tired.” Jules, not known for subtlety, gets right to the point.
“Yeah, I know. I’m sore, still leaking from everywhere, and haven’t slept in months.”
“Has anything gotten better with him?” She watches me, reading between every breath.
At first, Mason was in awe of our daughter. I remember the way he’d trace her fingers and listen to the tiny sounds she made in her sleep. But reality set in, and with each passing day, Mason pulled further away.
He wanted the version of parenthood that can be posted, filtered, admired.
Not the one that required patience, persistence, and selflessness.
“We’re here this week. Let us help you.” She fills my mug with coffee, then asks, “Want some Bailey’s?”
But Margaret enters with a crying Anna, gently bouncing her in her arms. “I think she might be hungry. Mason said to find you. Do you have any bottles so we can help with feedings?”
“I’ll pump when I can.” I wince, already feeling the telltale letdown as I take Anna.
“Come on, feed her on the sectional, and we can keep catching up.” Jules snatches my mug, already on the move.
Anna’s tiny fists flail against my chest. Even in her rage, she’s all softness and certainty. The one thing in my life that feels entirely, unquestionably right. We settle into the chair and she calms immediately. My sweater falls gracefully around us, hiding my breasts.
“It feels so good to have everyone here,” Margaret says, squeezing Jules’s arm. “I was worried it might not happen.”
“Mom, I wouldn’t have missed this for anything. Not even a pandemic.” Jules pulls her mom into a hug. “The house looks incredible.”
Margaret has always decorated beautifully, but this year she’s gone all out.
Holly hangs over every doorway. The windows glow.
A Christmas tree nearly touches the ceiling.
Her signature simmer pot of cinnamon, cloves, and orange rinds fills every room.
The scent is at once comforting, and I finally feel my shoulders relax.
I sink into the chair, closing my eyes and resting while Anna nurses.
Their chatter a soft backdrop of gossip and news.
Twenty minutes pass in this comfortable haze before I hear Gary's voice from the entryway. “Sydney, I found the crib we used for the twins and set it up in your room. Want me to put the pack-and-play in the sunroom?”
“That’d be perfect. Thank you.”
“Mom, have you seen—” Mason’s voice cuts off mid-sentence. “What are you doing? You can’t do that in the middle of the family room.”
It takes me a second to catch on. He means breastfeeding, the horror.
“That’s not appropriate.” He gestures with two fingers, sharp as an accusation, toward Anna on my chest.
“Mason, chill,” Jules snaps. “She’s feeding your daughter.”
Margaret remains carefully composed. Gary disappears.