Still, my stomach dipped.
“I had a baby three weeks ago,” I said flatly. “What did you expect?”
He winced. “That’s not what I meant.”
I wanted to soften. I wanted to let him in. I could almost feel the edge of it, this moment where I could say, I’m scared. I’m lonely. I don’t know how to do this without losing myself.
Instead, I said, “What time is Oscar’s Rugby practice tomorrow?”
Dan blinked, thrown. “What?”
I stared at him.
The question wasn’t really about Rugby. It was about everything.
Do you know anything? Are you carrying any of this? Is any of it in your brain? Or is it all just… in mine?
Dan hesitated. “I… don’t know.”
Of course he didn’t.
“And Sophie’s school trip form,” I continued, voice tight. “Did you sign it?”
He looked genuinely panicked. “What form?”
The heat rose in my throat. Not rage, something worse. A kind of despair that feels like you’re screaming underwater and no one can hear you.
“It’s in her book bag,” I said. “It needs signing by tomorrow.”
Dan rubbed his face. “Okay. Okay, I can do that.”
“And milk,” I added, because I couldn’t help myself. “We’re nearly out.”
He nodded quickly. “I’ll get it tomorrow.”
I almost laughed again. Tomorrow. As if tomorrow wasn’t already full. As if there was space in tomorrow. As if tomorrow wasn’t another day I would manage like a machine.
Ruby unlatched and sighed, milk drunk and content. I tucked her close, patting her back gently. She made a small burp that sounded impossibly adult, then relaxed into my chest like I was the safest place on earth.
Dan watched her, softening. “She’s… perfect.”
“She is,” I whispered.
He leaned in, brushed a kiss against Ruby’s head. Then, without thinking, his hand hovered near my shoulder, like he might touch me too.
He paused.
Something passed between us. A question. A hesitation.
Then his hand dropped.
And the air shifted slightly cooler.
Dan cleared his throat. “You should sleep. I can take the morning with Oscar and Sophie. Get them dressed. Breakfast.”
I looked at him.
That was… something.
