“How can you be so sure?” My chest tightens, and my mind whirls around the panic button nestled neatly in the center of my brain. It’s right there, ready to be pushed. “What if I’ve made a mistake?” I mutter.
“You won’t know until you actually do something that can be considered a mistake.” Ellie rubs my arm and squeezes me tighter. “It’s going to be an adjustment. Anything after having a baby is. And your worsened anxiety is a result of that too. Your hormones are trying to figure out who they are again, and you’re at their mercy.”
“Yay me.”
“It’s totally normal,” Benny says, like he’s suddenly an expert on motherhood and postpartum. “And you have us and Steven to help you.”
“Yeah, sure.” I wave him off, ignoring the hollow dip in my stomach at the sound of my husband’s name. I stand and turn to the boxes that need unpacking before the school bell rings.
Silence stretches between us. Instead of filling it, I grab another box. And then another. The air feels thick—crowded somehow, like it’s paying too much attention to me. Ellie and Benny drift back into their newlywed chatter.
My phone buzzes.
I don’t check it. I don’t have to. I know it’sSteven again.
I keep moving—sifting through folders, stacking files, moving the dragon. My body slips into autopilot, chasing order like if everything around me is neat enough, I might be too.
Another buzz and suddenly my emotions scrape sharp against my skin, like they’re becoming too much. My breathing feels tricky, but I manage, trying to focus on the good things like Ellie mentioned. The true things. But it’s not enough.
My hands tremble against the cardboard. A thousand scenarios crowd my mind at once.It’s an adjustment.
“You’re going to be okay.” Ellie gives me a smile as they leave the office.
She means well. Benny too. Steven probably does too, with all the texts. But even the well-meant things have started to feel like a lot. Stacking on top of the hormones and responsibilities. Expectations I won’t ever meet. Like this unspoken pressure to be strong, steady, to beokay.
Everyone is trying so hard to make this good for me. They’re always trying. And maybe it will be a good thing. Eventually.
But right now, it’s terrifying. It adds to the other thing. The quiet, twisting unease that creeps in every time I think of my husband. The way my stomach knots without permission. I can’t explain it. I don’t understand it.
Still, I shake it off.
That’s what I do. It’s what I have to do.
But standing here, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes and Steven’s easy smile frozen in a frame on my desk, a quiet, unwelcome thought slipsin.
What if it’s not going to be okay?
Chapter two
Emma
Themomentallfiveof us wedge ourselves into the car, I start to regret a lot of life choices. Like being a used SUV off of Marketplace.
Because that SUV decided today would be the day it wouldn’t start. It’s also the day our nanny has to be an hour late. Now, I’m not complaining about the extra hour with Josie. I only made it three hours yesterday before taking an early lunch and rushing home to see her. But when everyone needs to be somewhere else at the same time, the morning starts to unravel.
So we’re all piled in Steven’s car for now. A quick drive to school and work should be something we can all manage.
Should be.
Except, Easton and Sawyer are fighting over the same stupid, plastic dinosaur toy—when we have three identical ones somewhere in the house. Josie is crying, hating every second of being strapped in the car seat. And Steven is tapping away on his cell phone, blocking it all out.
The noise swells, matching the quick, shallow thrum of my pulse. It’s relentless and depleting, but I power through it, focusing on the small tear along the thigh of my pantyhose.
Steven exhales hard, shoving his phone in the cup holder and adjusting the rearview mirror. His jaw is locked in that tight, immovable way it’s been set lately. He didn’t get home until after two this morning, and having to wakeup early for another shift today, the exhaustion clings to him like a heavy coat.
“Boys,” I say, just as their voices reach a new octave.
“Can we not do this today?” Steven mutters quietly. And I can’t tell if he’s talking to the kids or me.
