And in that split second, I know.
I’m too late.
Chapter Twenty
Brooke —Earlier that morning
“Honey, I’m worried about you,” I say, trailing behind Matthew as he hovers in the bedroom, lining up snacks and drinks on the nightstand like he’s prepping me for hibernation.
I love him for it. I really do. But it’s also starting to drive me a little insane. I’m more than two weeks postpartum. I can walk. It’s itchy as hell down there, sure, but walking to the kitchen won’t kill me.
The ointment, whichhe insistson helping me apply, has definitely helped with the healing. I’d never admit it out loud, but the man is weirdly gentle with me. Still, this whole hovering thing? It’s starting to feel like a cage.
“Is Doritos okay? We’re out of Cocoa Puffs,” he says, still facing the nightstand.
“It’s fine,” I reply. “Will you look at me?”
He freezes for half a second before straightening, but he doesn’t turn around.
“You were supposed to have today off,” I remind him, my voice sharper than I mean it to be. “And now they’re calling you in?”
“It’s an emergency,” he says flatly.
“Matthew.” His name comes out hard this time, and that does it. He stops, shoulders tensing, but still doesn’t turn.
“Matthew,” I repeat, softer.
He finally turns around. And God… he looks exhausted. There are shadows under his eyes that weren’t there before, his jaw tight like he’s holding back more than just words.
“We have to talk,” I say quietly.
His shoulders slump like I’ve just punched the air out of him. He takes a step toward me, but not close enough to touch. “I know,” he says finally. “I know. I’ll be home soon and then… we’ll talk. I promise.”
I nod slowly, because pushing him when he looks like that would feel cruel. “Fine.”
He leans down, kisses Penny’s head, then my cheek, breath warm against my skin. “I love you,” he murmurs, and before I can say it back he’s gone.
Penny fusses in my arms. She feels bigger already, heavier, more aware and Matthew’s not here to watch her grow. I huff, trying to shove the worry down, to stop the pit in my stomach from widening into something that eats the rest of the day.
I haven’t even had a proper chance to tell him about the nanny plan Zara and I came up with. We decided to share one nanny to save money, since Thiago and Penny are basically the same age, it made practical sense, but finding someone who’s experienced withtwoinfants is harder than I thought. Either the candidates want full-time salaries, or they have the personality of a brick. Every phone call ends with me feeling more exhausted.
Sure, I could text him. And I did. His reply was a single thumbs-up. That’s it. I make a face at Penny.
“Your daddy’s being ridiculous,” I tell her, exaggerating the words like she’s old enough to understand. “He better fess up before Mommy gets violent.”
She hiccups like she agrees, and I bounce her gently against my chest. “Yeah, she will. Yes, she will,” I coo, my voice soft and animated. She doesn’t care, of course, just blinks her eyes up at me like a very unimpressed potato.
The morning actually starts out okay. Penny falls asleep not long after Matthew leaves, and I even get a whole two hours to scroll through job listings online. I’m mid–daydream about a work-from-home gig that doesn’t involve human interaction when her hungry cry splits the quiet.
Feeding time.
Halfway through, she decides to have the mother of all blowouts. Warm, wet, catastrophic. It’s everywhere, her back, my shirt, my chest. I gag, because of course I do. Becoming a mom doesn’t mean that a baby’s shit no longer stinks. Grimacing, I strip us both down. I cut my shirt straight through the front cause no way am I risking getting some of that radioactive shit in my face or hair and head straight for the shower.
Once we’re both clean and no longer smell like baby poo, I wrap her in a soft towel, dry myself off, and wrestle us into clean, warm clothes. She smells like baby lotion again. Peace is temporarily restored.
I’m heading to the kitchen for a snack, Penny warm and heavy in my arms, when a sharp knock at the door cuts through the moment.
I frown, shifting her against my shoulder, and walk toward it.
