I’ve thought about introducing myself a dozen times over the years, but I never have a good reason to. What would I say?Hi, I’m your workaholic neighbor who you probably never see because I’m always at the hospital?
Now, with Henry fussing in the living room and my complete incompetence on full display, she might as well be living on another planet. I can’t even handle one baby for a few hours. The last thing I need is to expose my failures to someone who clearly has this parenting thing figured out.
I close the blinds and focus on Henry, who’s decided he’s hungry again even though he ate just two hours ago. According to what Amy told me once, babies should eat every three to four hours. According to Henry, schedules are merely suggestions.
As I prepare another bottle, my phone buzzes with a text from Dr. Williams asking for some details about my patients. This afternoon, after letting work know what was going on, one of my colleagues mentioned how important bonding is at Henry’s age, and so I did what seemed right.
I took a month off work and pulled him out of daycare.
It might seem extreme, but the little guy doesn’t have his mom right now. He has… well,me. And if we’re going to do this thing, I want to do it right.
I’d almost forgotten all about work, but seeing the message reminds me that I have a whole other life that’s currently on hold.
A life that made sense. A life where I knew what I was doing.
I glance at the clock. It’s only seven p.m., and I already feel like I’ve been taking care of Henry for aweek.How do people do this every day? How did Amy make it look so effortless?
The thought of Amy hits me like a physical blow. She’s lying in that hospital bed right now, machines monitoring her breathing, and I’m here complaining about diaper changes and feeding schedules.
Meanwhile, my sister, my best friend, my rock… she might never wake up. And then Henry will be an orphan, just like I was at his age.
The fear I’ve been pushing down all day rises to the surface, threatening to overwhelm me. Amy has been the one constant in my life since we were kids. She’s the one person who knows me completely, who loves me despite all my flaws.
What if I lose her?
Henry starts crying again, pulling me back to the present. This time, I remember to burp him after his bottle, and the crying stops quickly. Small victories.
“Your mom is going to be okay,” I tell him as I rock him gently. “She’s the strongest person I know. She’s going to wake up and come home, and she’s going to be so proud of how well you’re doing.”
Henry looks up at me with those serious dark eyes, and for a moment I imagine I see understanding there. Like he knows we’re both scared, both figuring this out as we go along.
“Until then, it’s just you and me, buddy. We’ll figure it out together.”
The house settles around us, quiet except for the soft sounds Henry makes as he drifts back to sleep. Through the closed blinds, I can see lights on in the house next door, and I wonder what it’s like to have neighbors you actually know, to be partof a community instead of just someone who comes and goes without connecting.
But that’s a luxury I can’t afford right now. Right now, it really is just me and Henry against the world, and I have to be enough for both of us.
CHAPTER 6
ALEXA
Saturday mornings are my favorite. No rush to get Ash to school, no pressure to be anywhere at a specific time. Just the two of us and whatever the day brings.
“Mom, can I have pancakes?” Ash asks, padding into the kitchen in his pajamas, hair sticking up in three different directions.
“Absolutely.” I pull the pancake mix from the pantry. “The good ones or the boring healthy ones?”
“Good ones, obviously.”
I laugh and start mixing the batter while Ash climbs onto a kitchen stool to watch. This is our Saturday ritual. Pancakes, cartoons, and absolutely no mention of homework or chores until at least noon.
“Can I flip them?” he asks as the first pancake bubbles in the pan.
“When they’re ready.” I hand him the spatula. “Remember, wait for the bubbles to pop and the edges to look dry.”
He nods solemnly, taking his pancake-flipping responsibilities very seriously. When the time comes, he manages to flip it without making a mess, grinning with pride.
“Perfect,” I tell him, and his smile gets even bigger.
