When I came downstairs after showering, Summer was rocking Ivy with one foot while making ridiculous faces at Lila.
She was also singing terribly.
“You sound awful,” I told her.
She smiled.
“They’re only six months old. They haven’t developed musical standards yet.”
A laugh escaped me.
The sound felt strange, as though I hadn’t used it in a long time.
Summer placed a warm sandwich in front of me.
“Sit down and eat.”
I took one bite before she spoke again.
“How much does Brandon actually help?”
I lowered the sandwich.
“What do you mean?”
“You always tell everyone that he handles the night feedings.”
“He has.”
“How often?”
I looked down at the table.
“Twice.”
Summer’s expression changed.
“Twice this week?”
“Twice since the twins were born.”
She sat across from me.
“What else have you been covering up?”
“I haven’t been covering anything.”
“Amy.”
I looked at the clean bottles lined up beside the sink.
“When people ask how we’re doing, I tell them he wants me to rest.”
“Does he?”
“Mostly, he asks why dinner isn’t ready or why the house looks messy.”
Summer was quiet for a moment.
“Why have you been protecting him?”
“Because I didn’t want people judging our marriage.”
“And did hiding the truth improve your marriage?”
I looked toward the living room where our daughters had finally fallen asleep.
“No.”
“What did it do?”
“It left me carrying everything alone—including the truth.”
Summer reached across the table and covered my hand with hers.
“What do you want to happen when he comes home?”
“I don’t know.”
And I truly didn’t.
I wasn’t ready to say that my marriage might be ending.
But I was finally ready to admit that it could not continue the way it had been.
“I know one thing,” I said. “I’m not going to pretend his behavior was normal.”
Summer squeezed my hand.
“That’s enough for today.”
Then my phone rang.
It was Brandon’s mother.
For a moment, I considered ignoring it.
Every time Dawn had asked how we were adjusting to parenthood, I had given her the polished version.
Brandon is wonderful.
We’re learning together.
I’m tired, but every new mother is tired.
I answered.
“Amy, where is Brandon?”
“He went fishing.”
“And you stayed home with the twins?”
“Yes.”
“Are you there by yourself?”
“Summer is here now.”
Dawn’s voice softened.
“Put me on speaker. You need your hands free.”
I placed the phone on the counter.
“When was the last time you slept longer than two hours?” she asked.
“I honestly don’t remember.”
“Have you spoken to your doctor?”
“I had an appointment, but I canceled it.”
“Why?”
“Brandon had a meeting.”
Silence followed.
Then Dawn said gently, “Strong mothers still need medical care, Amy. Being exhausted does not mean you are failing.”
Her next question was direct.
“Do you feel safe caring for the girls?”
“Yes. I’m overwhelmed, but the girls are safe.”
“Good. Do you have enough formula and diapers until tomorrow?”
I checked the cabinet.
“Not much.”
“Order more. I’ll stay on the phone while you do it. Then I’m coming over.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Yes, I do. And until I arrive, do not clean. Do not fold clothes. Feed yourself and take care of the babies.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I opened our banking app to check the balance before placing the order.
Then I froze.
“Amy?” Summer asked.
I turned the phone toward her.
Two thousand dollars had been taken from our emergency savings.
There were charges for a cabin, fuel, boat rental, food, and fishing equipment.
The previous week, Brandon had told me we could not afford to hire someone to help with the twins for one afternoon.
But somehow, we could afford to spend two thousand dollars on his getaway.
Dawn’s voice sharpened through the phone.
“What happened?”
“He used our emergency money.”
“For the trip?”
“Yes.”
“Save everything,” she said. “Take screenshots of every charge.”
I did.
“And order the formula,” she added. “Your daughters’ needs come before Brandon’s excuses.”
For illustrative purposes only
Part 5: I Stopped Protecting Him
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