It was meant as a compliment.
It still made me want to scream.
“I’m not magic,” I whispered, shifting Ruby to get her latch right. The pull was sharp at first, then dulled into that strange, draining relief. “I’m just… here. All the time.”
Dan nodded, like he understood.
He didn’t.
He couldn’t. Not yet.
In the dim light, his face looked tired too. His eyes were rimmed red. His shoulders slumped the way they did when he’d had a long day at work. He wasn’t sleeping much either. He wasn’t living his best life while I suffered. He was struggling.
And yet.
There was a difference between struggling and being the default.
Ruby’s eyelids fluttered. Her hand, still damp with newborn sweat, curled around my finger.
Dan exhaled slowly. “I’ll go get another muslin.”
I looked at the muslin already clutched in his hand.
He followed my gaze and lifted it slightly. “This one is… wet.”
I almost laughed. Not because it was funny. Because it was absurd.
“Okay,” I whispered.
He stood again, careful this time, lifting his feet like he was walking through a field of landmines. He made it to the dresser without creaking the floorboard. He grabbed another muslin. Triumph flickered across his face like he’d just solved world hunger.
He crept back, held it up like an offering. “See? I’m learning.”
Something about that, his earnestness, his tiny victory, made my chest ache.
Because this was what it had become. Him learning the basics like a trainee. Me already fluent in every language our children spoke, running the whole operation while he celebrated a muslin like a milestone.
I adjusted Ruby again and she made a satisfied little noise.
Dan sat back down. “I can take her if you want. When she’s finished.”
My throat tightened. It was a reasonable offer.
But I didn’t want reasonable.
I wanted him to know what she needed without asking. I wanted him to notice that I hadn’t showered in three days. That my stitches still pulled when I moved. That my body wasn’t mine anymore; it belonged to three children and a schedule and a million invisible tabs open in my head.
I wanted him to look at me like he used to. Like I was a woman, not a resource.
“I’m fine,” I whispered.
Dan’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re not fine.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
He shook his head, quieter now. “You look… wrecked.”
It wasn’t a criticism. It wasn’t cruel. It was just truth.
