That evening, Lila had been crying against my shoulder for nearly an hour.
Her gums were swollen from teething, and nothing I tried seemed to comfort her.
Ivy was kicking inside her bouncer near the kitchen table, crying just as loudly.
A pot on the stove had nearly boiled dry. Four used bottles were lined up beside the sink. A basket of clean laundry sat unfolded in the hallway.
I had been awake since five that morning after another night of sleeping in forty-minute stretches.
When Brandon arrived home, he loosened his tie and released a long, irritated sigh.
“I could hear them crying from the driveway.”
I continued rubbing Lila’s back.
“They’re teething. I’ve been trying to calm them.”
Brandon stepped over the laundry basket as though it personally offended him.
“It’s always like this when I come home.”
I stared at him.
“What do you mean?”
“The crying. The bottles. The mess.”
He gestured around the kitchen.
“I work all day, Amy. I come home expecting a little peace, but instead, I walk into complete chaos.”
For a moment, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
I reached across the stove with my free hand and turned off the burner before the pot burned.
“Could you wash the bottles?”
Brandon looked toward the sink.
“What?”
“Please wash those four bottles while I settle the girls.”
“I just walked through the door.”
“And I’ve been caring for them since before sunrise.”
He gave me the same answer he had given many times before.
“You’re home all day.”
I looked at him over Lila’s small head.
“I am home all day caring for two babies.”
“I’m not saying you do nothing.”
“It sounds exactly like that.”
Ivy’s cries grew sharper.
I moved toward her, but Lila clutched my shirt in both fists and began crying again.
“I haven’t eaten since breakfast,” I told him. “Please, Brandon. I need ten minutes.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“I’m exhausted.”
“So am I.”
“I’ve been working.”
“So have I.”
“You don’t understand what my job is like.”
“And you haven’t tried to understand what this is like.”
His expression hardened.
“Why does every conversation with you have to turn into an argument?”
“It wasn’t an argument. I asked you to wash four bottles.”
“I’m finished for the day.”
Something inside me went quiet.
I looked down at Lila, whose tears had dampened the shoulder of my shirt.
“I’m never finished,” I whispered. “That’s the difference between us. You believe you’re allowed to stop.”
Brandon glanced away.
That was when I noticed the green duffel bag beside the front door.
It wasn’t empty.
It wasn’t half packed.
It was zipped closed and ready to go.
A cold feeling settled into my stomach.
“Why is your bag by the door?”
Brandon reached for his jacket.
“I was going to tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
“Simon and Theo are picking me up.”
“For dinner?”
He avoided my eyes.
“We’re going fishing.”
I waited for him to explain.
He didn’t.
“When?”
“Tonight.”
“How long?”
He hesitated.
“Four days.”
I stared at him, certain I must have misunderstood.
“You planned a four-day vacation without telling me?”
“It’s not a vacation. It’s a fishing trip.”
“You’re leaving for four days. That is a vacation.”
“I need a break, Amy.”
The words struck me harder than I expected.
“So do I.”
Brandon shook his head.
“I work all week.”
“And I care for our daughters every hour of every day.”
“You get to stay home.”
“Do you believe staying home with two six-month-old babies is resting?”
A car horn sounded outside.
Brandon checked his phone.
“They’re here.”
He reached for the bag.
Panic rose in my chest.
“Did you ask anyone to help me?”
“You’ll be fine.”
“Did you call your mother?”
“No.”
“Did you arrange for Summer to come over?”
“You’ve cared for the girls alone before.”
“For a few hours—not four days!”
He shrugged.
“They’re babies, Amy. You feed them, change them, and put them to sleep.”
I looked straight at him.
“Then stay tonight and show me how easy it is.”
His jaw tightened.
“I already made plans.”
“Yes, you did. You made plans with Simon and Theo. You made plans for the cabin, the boat, and the drive.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat.
“But you made no plan for your wife or your daughters.”
“I knew you would react like this. That’s why I didn’t say anything sooner.”
“React like what? Like a mother who needs help when both babies are screaming?”
He lifted the duffel bag.
“I’m not doing this right now.”
“I haven’t slept through the night since they were born.”
My voice shook, but I forced myself to continue.
“If I called you tomorrow and said I couldn’t cope, would you come home?”
Brandon paused.
It was only a second.
But it was long enough.
His hesitation answered the question.
“I need this trip,” he finally said.
“And I need a husband.”
He opened the door.
Then he looked back at me holding one crying baby while the other screamed from across the room.
“You wanted to be a mother,” he said. “Start acting like one.”
For several seconds, I couldn’t breathe.
We had spent years hoping for a child.
We had attended appointments, endured disappointment, and promised each other that if we were ever lucky enough to become parents, we would face everything together.
Then we were blessed with two daughters.
And somehow, Brandon had decided they were my responsibility alone.
He remained by the door, perhaps expecting me to cry, plead, or apologize.
Instead, I looked him directly in the eyes.
“Go.”
His expression changed.
“That’s all you’re going to say?”
“You’ve already made your choice.”
Then he walked out.
For illustrative purposes only
Part 3: The Longest Night of My Life
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