At 3:14 the following morning, I sat on the nursery floor.
Ivy rested against one side of me.
Lila lay against the other.
Both girls had finally stopped crying, but I was too afraid to move in case I woke them.
In one hand, I held half a granola bar.
It was the first thing I had eaten in hours.
“I’m here,” I whispered to them.
My voice cracked.
“Mommy is right here.”
I checked my phone.
There were no messages from Brandon.
He had not asked whether the girls had eaten.
He had not asked whether they were sleeping.
He had not asked whether I was managing.
I began typing a message.
“The girls won’t settle. Can you call me?”
My thumb hovered over the send button.
Then I erased every word.
I had asked for help while he was standing three feet away from me.
I refused to beg now that he was miles away enjoying the trip he had chosen over us.
The following morning, while I was warming a bottle, my phone lit up with a social media notification.
Brandon had posted a photograph.
He stood beside a lake under a perfect blue sky, smiling broadly with Simon and Theo. The water behind them looked calm and silver in the morning light.
His caption read:
“Finally enjoying the peace and quiet I deserve. Thanks, boys!”
I stared at the word deserve.
He believed he deserved peace.
He deserved sleep.
He deserved a cabin by a lake and four days without responsibility.
What did he believe I deserved?
Another sleepless night?
Cold food?
Two crying babies and no one to hand me a clean bottle?
I took a screenshot.
A few minutes later, my sister called.
“Amy, did you see Brandon’s post?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
“Fishing.”
There was a pause.
“With you and the twins?”
“No.”
Lila began crying from the play mat.
Summer’s voice changed immediately.
“Are you alone?”
“We’re all right.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
I lifted Ivy higher against my shoulder.
“Yes. I’m alone.”
“I’m coming over.”
“Summer, you don’t have to do that.”
“I know I don’t have to.”
She ended the call before I could argue.
Thirty minutes later, she arrived carrying groceries.
She stepped inside, took one look at me, and stopped.
My hair hadn’t been washed in days.
My shirt was stained with formula.
An old envelope on the counter was covered with hastily written feeding times because I was too tired to trust my memory.
Summer set the bags down.
“When did you last eat?”
“I had part of a granola bar.”
She looked around the room, but she did not criticize the dishes, laundry, or mess.
Instead, she asked the question I desperately needed someone to ask.
“What do you need first?”
My eyes filled with tears.
“A second version of me?”
“I’m serious, Amy.”
I pointed toward the sink.
“Could you wash the bottles? Then maybe hold Ivy while I take a shower?”
“Done.”
No complaint.
No exhausted sigh.
No reminder that she had her own responsibilities.
She simply rolled up her sleeves and began helping.
Part 4: The Truth I Had Been Hiding
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