When I swing the door open, Sheera’s standing there with Raina bundled in the familiar fuzzy pink blanket she always brings. Her cheeks are flushed from the cold, hair pulled into a messy bun, and she gives me a look that saysyep, it’s one of those daysbefore I even say hello.
“Hey,” I say, automatically switching into baby voice. “Did you guys come for a playdate?”
Sheera just raises a brow at me, not saying a word. Right. Not akiddate. Amomdate. I nod slowly, like I’m letting the realization sink in.
“Come on,” I whisper, lowering my voice since Raina’s clearly asleep. “We can put them in the crib. It’s a twin one anyway.”
Sheera steps inside, kicking off her boots at the door, while I keep gently bouncing Penny. Her eyelids are already drooping, her warm little body melting against mine, and by the time we reach the nursery, her eyes are fully closed.
I carefully lay her down next to Raina, who’s curled on her side like the world’s smallest cinnamon roll. I adjust the baby monitor, triple check that it’s on, and tiptoe out of the room.
Sheera’s already claimed the sofa by the time I return, letting out a dramatic exhale like a woman who has a lot to get off her chest.
I glance at the kitchen counter, debating. Wine would be great right about now. But since we’re both breastfeeding, I bypass that idea and grab the family-size pack of Oreos instead. Priorities.
I plop down beside her, tear the top open, and set the pack between us. I take one; she wordlessly reaches for another, twisting it apart the way everyone does, licking the cream first.
I don’t ask anything. I just give her space.
After two Oreos, she grabs a third, stares at it for a second, then blurts out, “Byron regrets her.”
I turn toward her slowly, resting my weight on the arm of the couch, mirroring her position.
She presses her lips together, shaking her head a little. “He hasn’t said it. But now that the newborn phase has passed, he’s finally realizing just how much his life has to change because of her.”
She lets out a soft, bitter laugh and shrugs. “He hired a nanny. And he’s currently mapping out the cross-country RV trip we should take this summer.”
I blink at her. “What about Raina?”
“That’s what I said,” she mutters, dragging an half Oreo through the cream, just to keep her hand busy. “His answer? ‘We’ll figure something out.’” She looks at me, eyes sharp but tired. “Like, how do youfigure outwhere to abandon your three-month-old while you drive around the country?”
I don’t say anything. I just let her talk, because I can see the dam’s about to crack.
Sheera shakes her head, her voice low. “You know what gets me? He’s not a bad guy. He’s not cruel. He just… wants his old life back. He wants road trips and dinners and sex whenever the mood strikes. And I-” Her throat works, the words wobbling now. “I don’t think he gets that I can’t just pick up and go anymore. That Idon’twant to, not like before. I want to be with her.”
Her eyes flick toward the baby monitor on the table. The little green light pulses softly, steady and constant. “It’s like we’re on two different maps. I’m here, in real life, and he’s… still tracing routes on the fantasy one.”
She laughs again, but it’s brittle this time. “He thinks the nanny solves everything. Like I didn’t go through pregnancy at forty-five. Of course, it’s not going to be the same as when I was twenty. I’m older. He’s older.”
I don’t even have to ask the question out loud, she must see it on my face.
“It’s not like he’s forcing me,” she says quietly. “But when I had my first two, I was looking forward to the six-week mark. I was excited for it. This time… I didn’t even care. And to be honest, neither did he.” She lets out a shaky exhale and gestures at her body with a humourless little smile. “I can’t really blame him. This wouldn’t turn me on either.”
I lean forward, voice soft but steady. “You just had a kid. Give yourself time. And if he-”
A sharp knock at the door cuts me off, followed by the sound of keys turning in the lock.
Chloe walks in like she owns the place, eyebrows arching as her gaze lands on me, Sheera, and the half-eaten pack of Oreos. “Having a little girls’ day, are we?” she drawls.
I force myself to stand. “Chloe, this is Sheera. From my Lamaze class. Sheera this is my mother-in-law, Chloe.”
Chloe’s eyes sweep over Sheera, her mouth curving just slightly. Sheera gives a small wave from the sofa, unfazed. But then Chloe leans in toward me, her voice pitched as if it’s a whisper, but it isn’t.
“Isn’t she a little old?”
My eyes widen, warning flashing across my face.
Sheera rises gracefully from the sofa, smile as sharp as glass. “What can I say?” she replies sweetly. “My husband couldn’t keep his hands off me.” She lifts her wrist and pretends to check a watch that isn’t there. “I should get going.”
