It’s balanced. No one gets taken advantage of. Everyone gets a village.
Not that I haven’t dealt with the thankless, entitled types, roommates who begged me to “cover just this once” at least three times a week, who somehow always had a sudden emergency when I needed help. The kind you cut out of your life and never look back.
It’s barely two when I get into my car, a perfect time to pick up Milo. Before leaving, I check my phone and see a text from my father-in-law:
I’ll pick up Milo today. I have Surprise for him.
Huh.
He usually uses our pick-up days to catch up on housework or tinker in the garage. But okay. Milo will be thrilled.
Another thing I genuinely lucked out on: my in-laws.
After hearing so many horror stories, I’m endlessly grateful for Colter and Eloise. I have this theory that it’s because Eloise has her own career, her entire identity doesn’t revolve around her kids.
It’s one of the things that inspired me to go back to work after Milo was born. I love him more than anything, but I don’t want to be limited to being “just” a mother. Not that I don’t respect stay-at-home moms, my mom was one, and I can’t imagine my childhood without coming home to her after school.
If Patrick’s family hadn’t been so available and supportive, I might not have been able to return to work at all. In a way, I’m glad Milo is the only grandchild for now. Harvey and Lauren have no plans for kids, and Zoey is still in law school.
The second the house comes into view, my stomach tightens.
Patrick’s car is in the driveway. He must be back from wherever he disappeared to. He didn’t text me, so he’s probably still pissed.
Well, tough. Distraction time is over.
I need answers.
The door clicks shut behind me as I step inside. The house is quiet, but when I round the corner into the kitchen, I stop short.
Patrick is sitting at the table. Drinking coffee like he hasn’t been throwing a hissy fit since yesterday.
He looks… tired though. Shoulders slumped, eyes rimmed in red, hair a mess like he’s run his hands through it a million times. In front of him is a plate with a half-eaten sandwich.
He startles a little when he sees me. Then straightens, as if pulling himself together.
“Hey,” he says, voice low. “You want something to eat? I can make-”
“I ate,” I cut in. “At the cafeteria.”
He blinks. “You… went to work?”
I set my bag down harder than necessary. “You’d know that if you answered any of my calls.”
His eyes drop instantly, shame flooding his face. He wraps his fingers around his coffee mug but doesn’t pick it up.
“I forgot to charge my phone,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, right,” I say, folding my arms. “You were busy yesterday.”
His brow furrows. “What?”
“Yesterday,” I say quietly. “I know what you did.” I don’t actually, but raising my sister taught me if you want the truth, you pretend you already have it.
Patrick goes still.
Completely still.
He opens his mouth once. Closes it. Then he forces the words out, not even pausing to breathe.
