Chapter 20
Cody
"When will you come to stay with us, Daddy?" Samuel asks me.
"Soon."
The promise hangs between us in the afternoon sun. I am standing close to Sarah and Jared’s car, bending my head to strap my son into his seat. My fingers click the safety harness into place, the small metal snap sounding loud against the background noise of the street.
Jared and Sarah are taking the kids on a week’s holiday to their grandparents’ place.
It was my idea from the start, though it took a great deal of real begging to get Jared to agree.
I need this week. I need the house clear of distractions, stripped of small feet interrupting every attempt I make to reach my wife.
Standing here now, watching Samuel’s little legs kick against the upholstery, a knot of doubt tightens in my chest. I'm not sure it is going to work.
“Who knows,” Jared says, his voice carrying over the roof of the vehicle as he catches my eye. “Maybe when you come back from Grandma’s place, your father will be back with you.”
He gives an awkward, exaggerated wink across the distance. The absurdity of the gesture startles a sudden laugh out of me.
I give a tight nod. “Thanks, Jared.”
He nods right back, his expression settling into something steady.
When they finally pull away from the curb, I press a quick kiss to each of the kids' foreheads through the open passenger window before Jared rolls the glass up.
I stand on the sidewalk for a long moment, watching the vehicle travel down the road for much longer than I need to, until the taillights disappear entirely.
Rain comes down the apartment stairs a few minutes later, dressed for the appointment. Her bag hangs over her shoulder, her light brown hair pinned back. I shift my weight, bringing the bouquet of flowers from behind my back.
“For you,” I say, holding the stems out toward her.
“Thank you,” she says, extending her hands to accept them.
A small smile touches her lips. It isn't a broad grin, but it is real. I count it as a win.
When she carries the blooms into the kitchen to place them in water, I follow her inside, my eyes tracking her movements.
She pauses in front of the counter, her gaze dropping to the vase already sitting near the sink.
The old flowers from outside the school gates are still holding on, their petals slightly faded.
She looks between the old bunch and the new one for a fraction of a second before carefully sliding the fresh stems in beside the rest.
She is happy. I can see the soft relaxation in her shoulders. Seeing it makes me want to do more for her, not less.
***
The hospital lobby smells of antiseptic and stale coffee.
I walk a step behind her as we approach the registration desk, my ankle bound tightly beneath my trousers. The receptionist looks up from her computer screen, her eyes traveling between the two of us.
“You usually bring someone else,” the nurse says, looking over her clipboard. “Is this your new partner?”
I feel my jaw tighten before my mind can even process the irritation. Partner. As if the title belongs to a stranger. As if I haven't spent the last month trying to strip away the distance between us.
“I’m her husband,” I say. The words leave my mouth too fast, the volume a fraction too loud for the lobby. “Father of the child.”
The receptionist blinks, caught off guard by the force behind my voice. “Okay. Noted.”
She turns back to her keyboard, her fingers typing out the data, unbothered by the personal details I clearly didn’t need to announce with that much intensity.
Rain keeps her face turned away from me, staring straight ahead, but I catch the exact moment the corner of her mouth twitches with a suppressed smile.
A nurse appears a moment later, a clipboard tucked under her arm to collect us for the session. “Will he be joining you from now on?” she asks, her eyes shifting from Rain to me.
“I think you’d have to ask him,” Rain says, her tone neutral.
The nurse turns her focus toward me, waiting.
“Yes,” I say, my voice steady. “As long as she wants me here, I’ll be here.”
Rain shifts her head, looking up at me. A smile breaks across her face, small, but this time it reaches her eyes, lifting the shadow from her features.
The room they guide us into is different from what I pictured. There is no exam table, no medical equipment. Instead, a circle of yoga mats stretches across the floor, occupied by a handful of other couples, most of the women much further along in their pregnancies than Rain.
A woman at the front begins the session, her voice calm as she guides us through breathing exercises.
She counts out slow, measured inhales and longer, deeper exhales, explaining the utility of each pattern.
One rhythm is designed to ground the body during early labor; another, shorter sequence is meant for the moments the contractions close in.
“Partners,” the instructor calls out, her eyes scanning the circle. “This is where you come in.”
She instructs the men to kneel behind their partners. I drop to the mat, positioning myself behind Rain, careful with my bandage. I brace my palms against the small of her back, applying a firm, steady counter-pressure while she practices breathing through a simulated contraction.
The moment my skin touches her spine, her body goes rigid.
She freezes for a split second, her breath catching.
I hold my position, keeping my hands steady against her shirt, letting her feel the support.
Slowly, her posture softens. She lets out a long exhale and leans her weight back into the pressure of my palms, anchoring herself against me.
“Good,” the instructor murmurs, moving down the row of mats. “That’s exactly it.”
We move on to physical positions next. The woman demonstrates how to support our partners during the height of the pain—how to help them stand, wrapping their arms around our necks so we can rock through the discomfort together.
She shows us how to brace their weight if their legs give out, reminding us to tell them to keep their jaws loose, because a clenched jaw means a clenched body.
I follow every instruction as if my survival depends on getting the movement right. A stubborn part of my mind has decided it does. I hold her waist, guiding her through the rocking motion, matching her breath with my own until the distance between us vanishes in the shared effort.
By the end of the session, the stray locks of Rain’s hair have slipped free from her plastic clip, the light brown strands slightly damp at her temples from the physical exertion. Without thinking, I reach out. My fingers brush the soft skin of her cheek as I tuck the loose lock behind her ear.
She lets me do it, her eyes searching mine in the room.
***
The drive back to the apartment passes mostly in silence, but the air inside the car feels different now—the old tension replaced by a lingering stillness. When I pull into the driveway and shift into park, she hesitates, her hand hovering over the door handle.
“I’d love to just sleep tonight,” she says, her voice low as she looks out the window. “You don’t have to come in.”
“Okay,” I say smoothly. I promised myself I would not push her, that I would respect whatever boundaries she set.
She stays in her seat for a second longer than the sentence requires. She turns her head, studying my face in the dim light of the dashboard. “You know what? Come in.”
Inside the apartment, the quiet settles around us. She walks to the couch and drops onto the cushions, stretching her legs across the empty space to rest her feet directly in my lap without asking, as if it is the most natural habit in the world.
“My feet are killing me,” she murmurs, closing her eyes. “Massage?”
I don’t need to be asked twice. I shift closer, my hands wrapping around her bare ankle. I work my thumbs firmly into the arch of her foot, applying pressure to the tense muscles. A low, unguarded sound escapes her throat, a soft murmur of relief that does something dangerous to my concentration.
For a while, neither of us says anything. The only sound is the rhythmic friction of my palms against her skin. Then, her voice breaks the quiet, the tone low and careful.
“When you told me you were traveling the next day,” she says, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, refusing to look at me, “I felt hurt. Like I didn’t matter. Like I’d just been used.”
My hands freeze against her skin. The warmth of the moment drains away.
“And right now,” she continues, her voice steadying, “I think I feel the exact same way I used to feel. Like I’m about to be used again.”
“Rain—”
“Let me finish,” she cuts in, her tone sharpening.
She pulls her feet back, sliding them out of my grip to curl them tightly beneath her shirt, creating a wide, physical gap between us on the sofa.
“I don’t know if you love me,” she says, looking right at me.
“But I know you do have feelings for me. The rushing out for ice cream at midnight proves it. You visiting my parents. Saying you love me over and over again I see the Genuity, but you’re making me feel things I thought I’d buried, and I don’t like it. ”
She stares at me, her eyes clear.
“I need you to leave.”
I sit there on the edge of the cushion for a long second, the ghost of her warmth still tingling in my empty hands. I look at her, searching for a gap in the armor, but find nothing.
I give a single nod. There is nothing left to argue with.
I stand up from the couch, my jaw setting as I walk toward the door, leaving her alone in the apartment.
***
I press the lock on the Range Rover, the click sounding incredibly loud in the dark driveway.
I stare up at the front window of her apartment. The glass is dark, mirroring the sky. A thick dryness clogs my throat, and I pull my jacket closer against the cool evening air. My hands find the inside of my pockets, my fingers curling into tight fists until my knuckles turn white.
The warmth of her foot still lingers on my palms, a ghost of a sensation that is already evaporating into the night.
I need you to leave.
Her words echo in my mind, a memory that nags repeatedly in my head.
I turn on my heel and walk down the walkway toward my car. I climb into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut to trap the silence inside the vehicle with me. I lean my head back against the headboard, staring blindly through the windshield at the opposite neighbor's house.
I wrap my hands around the steering wheel, my grip tightening until my arms shake.
You are making me feel things I thought I’d buried, and I don’t like it.
A bitter laugh escapes my throat, dissolving into a rough sigh.
I turn the key in the ignition, the engine rumbles to life, and the headlights cut through the darkness of the street. I shift into reverse, backing out of the curb slowly.
I promised her father I would love her loudly. I promised myself I would do whatever it takes to bring my wife and my children back to an actual home. I am not going to give up. A single setback is not going to make me retreat to the old routine.
Give her some time, a quiet voice whispers in my head.
I give a tight nod to the empty road ahead, my jaw setting with a newfound determination. She needs space to process the intrusion. She needs to see that I am not just a temporary presence during a doctor-ordered rest period. I will show her that I am here for the entire thing.
I pull onto the main road. I will give her the night. I will let her sleep in the stillness of her apartment without my shadow lingering over her. But tomorrow is a new day.