Chapter 3 #2
A gilded frame weighed like a boulder in my hands. The beautiful couple inside taunted me, laughing as they shoved wedding cake into the other’s mouth. Cradling my head in my hands, I tried to remember why I’d ever fallen in love with Ryan in the first place.
Even in the beginning, I could never figure out what someone as charismatic as Ryan had seen in me. At the time, I had decided to count myself lucky, then tried not to think too hard about it over the years.
Another photo held Ryan’s charming grin behind my beaming, pregnant self. Despite our fertility struggle we would endure afterward, our surprise miracle had come less than a year into our newlywed bliss.
Happiness and tiny kicks had filled my growing stomach at the prospect of becoming a mom. Plans blossomed, doctor’s appointments were made, and baby things from Mom arrived almost daily. My parents even offered to relocate closer to Chicago to help.
“Absolutely not.” The echo of Ryan’s scoff haunted me. I recalled the desperation in my voice as I settled my burgeoning belly beside him on the couch.
“Ryan, I’ve never done this before. I’m going to need support! My family—”
“Is overbearing. There’s no way I could stomach them living so close.”
“Gosh, Ry. It’s not like they’ll be sleeping in our bed!” I said. “I’m feeling overwhelmed and I’m going to need help.”
“Babe.” His hand brushed mine. “You’re being unreasonable. Of course you’ll have help. You have me. You don’t need your mom to babysit you and our baby.”
“Ry, I’m literally going to need her to babysit once I go back to work.”
His eyes grew before assuming a hard edge. “Surely you’re not planning to ditch our newborn while you go stare at art?”
“Well…” I hated when Ryan routinely minimized my career. Twisting the throw blanket beside me into small whirlpools, I said, “Of course not right at first. But when he gets a little bit older I’d—”
“You’d what? Leave him with someone else? Let someone else see his first steps? Babe, I thought you wanted this.”
“I do! I mean, I’d never…” I deflated like a balloon, the roller coaster of pregnancy hormones clouding my judgment. “I don’t know. Everything feels like it’s changing so fast and I’m scared… Uh, Ry?”
Ryan looked up from typing on his phone. “Yeah? Oh, sorry. I get it, babe. Don’t worry. You’ll make a great stay-at-home mom.” He kissed my cheek and rushed off to solve a legal issue without another word.
As I approached the last few months of pregnancy, early contractions threatened me with preterm delivery. I had never felt so terrified in my life. Strict bed rest became reality as my dreams of becoming an art curator drifted further away.
My boss, Barbara Gaines, would need an assistant who could keep up with her fast pace. The idea of leaving the museum was gut-wrenching, but there was no way to keep working without endangering my unborn child. But I could go back to work after the baby was born. Couldn’t I?
The more Ryan protested that idea, the more embarrassed I became for having it in the first place. Selfishness had no part in being a “good mom”—and I was willing to do anything to become one.
After making that heartbreaking call to Barbara, a piece of me crumbled. Dissolved. Ryan held me in his arms as I cried myself to sleep.
He murmured that it was for the best. That giving up my career was the right thing to do.
That sacrifice was a necessary part of becoming a mother.
His attempts at comfort—hands stroking my hair and back, the quiet whispers in the dark—made no difference.
Nothing could fill the tiny, cracked fissure in my chest.
By morning, my years of burning midnight oil had extinguished into smoking wisps. But I eventually told Ryan that he was right. A good mother wouldn’t want to leave her baby, no matter how important or self-fulfilling the museum was to me.
He brought me roses later that day.
Things got worse after Anthony was born. Instead of experiencing the joys of motherhood I’d seen in magazines, I experienced a third degree tear and hemorrhoids. My nether regions had never been so thankful for lumpy ice packs and witch hazel.
While the early days were brutal, mothering eventually became easier. After all, Anthony filled my life with purpose and love. On the other hand, fatherhood couldn’t have come less naturally to Ryan, who avoided as many tasks as he could.
I dropped the photo onto the bedspread and clenched my jaw. Ryan had the audacity to claim he deserved joint physical custody of Anthony.
“Over my dead body.” I smirked. “Or his.” Either would do.
“Are you serious right now?” Ryan’s blue eyes darkened at me over the Harrison might as well be now.” With that icy smile of his—the unfamiliar one that could cut glass—he swung open the door and left.
I watched my ex-husband stroll down the hallway with his hands in his pockets. A genuine smile split his face as he raked his fingers through his sandy blonde hair. All it took was one glimpse of Vanessa’s dark, glossy hair for my tears to spill over.
“Miss Adams?” My lawyer smoothed her red blazer as she looked up from her papers.
I swiped the emotion from my eyes.
The sound of my maiden name lifted my chin a fraction of an inch. Legally dropping Ryan’s last name had been a good reminder of who I really was.
She lifted the stack of documents, tapping the edges against the table and laying them down. “I think Ryan is right.”
My stomach lurched. “What?”
“It’s time for you to go back to work. It makes sense financially, plus it will show the judge that you are moving on with your life and Anthony.
That you can still be the present, doting mother and provide for him.
Ryan will have nothing to stand on. Once they see that stalling the settlement won’t faze you, they’ll give up. ”
Go back to work? The revelation compressed the air out of my lungs. Deep down, I knew I’d have to rebuild my life at some point. I pinched my cotton skirt and twisted it between my thumb and forefinger.
“I hoped I wouldn't have to until Anthony is more….used to all these changes.” I hedged.
Entering the workforce as a mother felt unnatural to me. Sure, I’d encountered many strong women in my neighborhood who balanced work and family with ease. But me? I’d probably fail and screw my kid up in the process.
Although, Anthony was much older now since the last time I faced this dilemma. He had his own hobbies, friends, and a pretend “study group” that was just a thinly-veiled excuse to play video games and eat pizza bites.
But wasn’t sacrificing one’s identity a hallmark of a “great mom”? The day he was born, I had boxed myself up, tied a ribbon, and presented my sacrifice to society on a silver platter. What did that box mean now?
As daunting as it felt, the prospect of starting back up my career caused a happy spark of life to ignite inside me. Why of all things was that spark producing the most guilt?
I glared at the back of my ex-husband’s head as he disappeared around the corner. Ryan had never supported my dreams. In fact, his blatant encouragement of them now was almost comical.
No, suggesting I return to the museum had been meant to offend me. To remind me of yet another thing he had taken. Having good faith in Ryan’s intentions was like climbing into a lion’s den and being shocked when my leg got bitten off.
Maybe my lawyer was right.
A plan emerged from the dusty recesses of my mind. A plan I’d been told was selfish for years. A plan I thought wasn’t allowed.
Screw you, Ryan.
I was going back to the museum.