Chapter 8 - What Good Looks LikeA few days later, Weston texted me a photo of our spotless kitchen. Cleaned everything. Come home?
I stared at the message before replying. What time does Rhett usually take his last bottle?
The typing dots appeared, then disappeared, then appeared again. He never answered.
That evening, he came over. "What do you want me to do, Hope?"
"I want you to stop waiting for instructions."
"I'm trying."
"Then try without turning me into your manager."
He sat across from me. "I cleaned the entire house. I thought you'd be happy."
"I'd be happier if you knew why Rhett's cry sounds different from Callum's."
He looked down. "Then teach me."
For a second, I almost agreed — the old version of me would already have been reaching for a notebook. Instead, I shook my head. "No. Watch them. Learn them. Spend enough time with your sons that you know."
His expression tightened. "And what if I mess up?"
"You will."
He looked surprised.
"So will I."
That seemed to catch him off guard. I glanced at my cast. "I've spent the last few weeks feeling like I'm failing because I can't even safely lift my own babies."
"Hope…"
"Let me finish. When this cast comes off, I'll get another chance to feel like myself again. You can have a second chance too."
"At us?"
"At becoming better than you've been." I held his gaze. "But I'm not dragging you there."
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Over the next several weeks, Weston began showing up without waiting to be asked. Twice a week he left work on time. He added the twins' medical appointments to his own calendar. He learned that Callum settled faster when pressed against his chest. He discovered that Rhett usually needed movement before he could fall asleep.
He still made mistakes. But I stopped immediately stepping in to rescue him every time something went wrong. He needed to learn. And I needed to stop carrying everything simply because I could do it faster.
