“I watched you run to the water valve three mornings in a row,” Robert interrupted. “Today I followed you.”
Gerald swallowed hard.
“We’re trying to keep the baby on schedule.”
Robert slowly lifted the timer.
“You taped this to the shower door?”
“Jennie takes forever, Dad. The baby cries, I have work—”
“So your solution,” Robert cut in coldly, “was to treat your recovering wife like a hotel guest using too much hot water?”
Gerald fell silent.
“It’s been happening for days,” I whispered.
Robert looked at me then, and for the first time in weeks, someone saw how exhausted I really was.
“Go use the guest bathroom,” he said gently. “Take as long as you need.”
When I came back downstairs later, papers covered the kitchen table.
Robert had created a full schedule of my daily routine.
Every feeding.
Every diaper change.
Every bottle.
Every night waking.
Minute by minute.
“I’ve been watching,” Robert said quietly. “You’re awake at two in the morning and again before sunrise. Meanwhile, my son somehow still has time for naps and video games.”
Gerald looked offended.
“Dad, this is ridiculous.”
“No,” Robert replied firmly. “What’s ridiculous is timing your wife’s showers while she recovers from childbirth.”
For illustrative purposes only
Then he slid the papers toward Gerald.
“For the next seven days, you’re doing everything.”
Gerald blinked. “What?”
“Feedings. Laundry. Bottles. Night shifts. Diapers. Baths. All of it.”
“I have meetings.”
