The phone in my hand starts buzzing. I see my mother-in-law’s name on the screen. I swipe to answer it.
“Hey, Sandy.”
“Hey there, Dallas! How’s it going? I was just calling to check in. Matt mentioned you two had a spat, so I was worried about you.”
I blink in surprise. Sandy has always been a neutral party in my and her son’s relationship. She respects boundaries as a grandma and offers to babysit so we can go on date nights. Overall, I have no complaints. We’re not close, but aside from her showing up at the hospital as soon as I gave birth and pressuring us to let her see the boys right away, she’s always been kind to me. And I know she was over the moon to meet her first grandkids and became a grandma.
“Things are … well, I mean, yes, we’ve been fighting. It’s hard with kids, you know.”
I don’t really know what else to say. I shove the black duffel bag back behind my hanging clothes in the closet so that it’s hidden, angry with myself for even thinking about quitting. When I finally come to my senses, I’ll have to unpack this bag without him finding out it ever existed.
“Well, I completely understand, of course. Marriage is … hard—really hard. It takes a lot of work.”
My father-in-law, Daren, has cheated on her at least once—that I know of.
“Yeah, I get that. I’m hanging in there. I just want what’s best for the boys.”
“I know you do. You’re an excellent mother, Dallas. The best. We’re just so thankful we have you in the family.”
A tiny swell of hope blooms inside me.
I’m not a quitter. I’m not one of those divorce statistics who just gave up on their marriage when things got tough.
A few months ago, when things were bad, we saw a pastor who doubles as a marriage counselor, and he encouraged us to think about what we love about the other person, especially when we’re starting to doubt the relationship. I exhale, closing my eyes and picturing my husband.
He’s not ugly. He’s not the handsomest man I’ve ever seen either. He’s medium height, around five foot nine.
He’s not all bad. He got me a necklace for my birthday last year. He ended up throwing it at me later that night, but it’s the thought that counts … right?
“I really appreciate you saying that, Sandy. It means a lot.”
Dutton runs through the house, his screaming brother right on his heels.
“It’s my turn to be the ’ductor!” Dawson screeches, rounding the corner of the kitchen island. He has a toy train clutched in his little hand.
I think about reprimanding them or telling them to go outside, but the more experience I gain as a boy mom, the more I realize there’s no reason to intervene unless someone is bleeding. The sound of them playing doesn’t bother me.
Being a mother is all I’ve ever wanted to be. I wasn’t one of those girls who dreamed of much else other than what I would name my babies and how I would decorate the playroom.
“Well, I just wanted to call and let you know I’m here if you ever need to talk. You’re the best thing that ever happened to him—I hope you know that. Kiss those sweet boys for me. Bye!” She hangs up the phone.
My heart warms at her words.
I reach down to preheat the oven, my spine snapping straight when I hear the garage door opening.
Shit. Matt is home.
I mentally scroll through the day and make sure I hid my emergency bag and deleted any of my searches pertaining to cheap apartments in the area, job postings for women with little work experience, or what to do when you’re afraid of your husband.
My breathing slows when I hear the door open. After training a pleasant smile on my face, I turn toward the heavy steps.
“Hi, honey. How was your day?” I stay near the stove, a wood spoon in my hand, ready to stir the simmering pot of chili.
My heart sinks when I see the expression marked with anger and annoyance.
“Boys! Quiet down,” he snaps, eyes turning to me. “You just gonna let them scream like that?”
I try hiding the trembling in my lower lip. “They’re just playing.”
