Chapter 2 - The Broken ArmTwo days earlier, I'd been sitting on the nursery floor, struggling to fasten Callum's sleeper using only my left hand. My right arm was trapped inside a cast. Rhett had started fussing behind me, and the tea I'd made earlier sat untouched on the changing table.
Weston walked in, stepped over a basket of clean laundry, loosened his tie, and looked at me. "What's for dinner, Hope?"
I stopped fighting with Callum's sleeper. "My arm is broken."
He glanced at the cast. "I know."
I waited for him to understand. He didn't. "So?"
"So I was hoping you might remember what the kitchen is for. Or at least know how to order takeout."
He didn't laugh. "I worked ten hours today."
"And I fell down the stairs yesterday."
The doctor had put my fractured arm in a cast and specifically warned me not to lift Callum or Rhett with it until it healed.
Rhett began crying harder. "Can you get him?" I asked.
Weston checked his phone. "I haven't even changed clothes yet."
"He doesn't care what you're wearing."
"Hope."
"What?"
"I just got home."
"So did you stop being their father when you pulled into the driveway?"
"I pay the bills."
"And?"
"And I'm not coming home from work just to start another shift."
Another shift. That phrase stayed with me. As if being a father was overtime.
"I need help for a few weeks," I said carefully. "Come home an hour earlier when you can. Take a day off if you have one. Ask whether you can work from home sometimes."
"I have a job."
"So did I before maternity leave."
"Exactly. You're home now."
"With two babies."
"You're better at this than I am anyway."
"I'm better because I do it every day."
Rhett started crying louder. Weston sighed like the sound irritated him. "Can't you just handle him?"
"With one arm?"
"You still have another one."
I went completely quiet. Then he shrugged. "You're the one who wanted kids."
My head snapped up. "We wanted them. You were the one sending me nursery ideas before I was even pregnant."
"You know what I mean."
"No, Weston. I don't. Right now, I don't even know who you are."
He rubbed his forehead. "I'm exhausted, Hope. Moms don't get sick days."
I looked down at my cast. "I'm injured."
"That's not my problem."
"I'm asking you to help me for a few weeks."
"You take care of the babies. That's your job."
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Then he walked out. Rhett kept crying. Callum reached up and grabbed the edge of my cast with both tiny hands. I gently pulled myself free and whispered, "Okay. I've got you."
I had been saying things like that for too long. I've got it. I'm fine. Even when neither was true.
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