“My parents are around. They love helping take care of her.” He shrugs like that explanation should satisfy me.
“Twenty-three minutes,” I say flatly. “That includes carrying her in when we arrived. And it’s not just this week I’m talking about. You do not help. Ever.”
“You’re on maternity leave.” He states it like a legal fact. “That’s what you signed up for. If it’s too much, let’s hire a nanny and get our lives back.”
The air whooshes from my lungs. Rage flares, quick and hot. I fight to keep my voice down so I don’t wake Anna, but what I want is to scream, to let every buried hurt rise and detonate.
“When I found out I was pregnant, you told me you’d be with me every step of the way. And you disappeared. I don’t want a nanny to raise our daughter. I want us to be there for her. Both of us.” My voice shakes. “But you do what you want, when you want. I’m assuming you’re going skiing tomorrow.”
His expression doesn’t change, the same glazed look as someone half-listening to a podcast he can’t skip. “Of course I am. I always go the day after Christmas. Don’t make this a big thing. It’s one day.”
He presses a hand to my cheek. Once, that gesture might have soothed me. Now, it curdles.
The bathroom door shuts behind him, final as a verdict.
Tears fall, no matter how much I try to blink them back. The floor beneath me feels as fragile as a frozen lake at midnight, the surface glassy and beautiful beneath me, cracks spreading with each step. Am I walking toward solid ground or straight into the cold below?
Sixteen
Anna,usuallyaplacidbaby, joins my quiet symphony of despair, her cries echoing through the room in solidarity. She’s inconsolable. Each wail is a cruel reminder of how I feel.
Somewhere in the fog of exhaustion and frustration, Mason’s voice cuts through. “Can you take her downstairs? I need rest if I’m going to hit the slopes tomorrow.”
The urge to smother him with a pillow is overwhelming.
Instead, I scoop Anna into my arms and retreat to the sunroom. My footsteps are soft against the hardwood floor, a lullaby of motion as I bounce and sing until my voice cracks with exhaustion. Hours blur into a cycle of soothing and nursing, trying to comfort her while holding myself together. As dawn paints the sky in soft streaks of gray and lavender, Anna succumbs to sleep. Her warmth is a fragile comfort in this hollow space. Exhaustion claims me, and I drift into a restless slumber in the armchair.
It doesn’t last. A clatter in the hallway jars me awake. I blink, disoriented, as muffled voices and shuffling feet move through the house.
James appears in the doorway, wearing sleek army-green ski pants and a fitted midnight-blue base layer that clings to his chest. I must look as wrecked as I feel, because whatever he sees makes something flicker across his expression. Pain? Pity? I offer a weak smile and a thumbs-up, silently telling him to let us be. Henods and slips away, leaving me to stare off into the cold landscape, hoping sleep will return.
Coffee wafts through the air as the house falls silent.
A floorboard groans.
James stands in the doorway again, this time in old jeans and a soft sweater, a steaming mug in one hand and a tray in the other.
“Figured you could use some caffeine.”
“Weren’t you going skiing with everyone?”
“Changed my mind.” He pauses. “Honestly, you looked like you had a rough night. I thought… maybe I could help.”
“You stayed to help me?”
“If you’ll let me. I can hold Anna while you get some real sleep in an actual bed.”
“I can’t ask you to do that. I’ll drink a pot of coffee and be fine.”
“Nope. I’m not taking no for an answer. I saw bottles in the fridge. She needs milk, a clean diaper, and arms to hold her. I’ve got that covered.”
He leans in and lifts Anna from me. His touch is gentle and sure, his chest a warm haven for my sleeping child. “I can’t give you a full night’s sleep like you asked Santa for, but I can give you this.”
I watch him. The way he holds Anna. The way he remembers that stupid little joke from our walk in the woods. The tenderness in his eyes as he looks at me.
“Are you sure?” I blink hard, trying not to cry from the relief, from the offer.
He nods without hesitation.
