“And I fell down the stairs yesterday.”
The doctor put my fractured arm in a cast and told me not to lift Luke or Miles with it while it healed.
I looked toward Miles.
“Can you get him?”
Derek checked his phone.
“I haven’t even changed yet.”
“And I fell down the stairs yesterday.”
“He doesn’t care what you’re wearing.”
“Hope.”
“What?”
“I just got home.”
“So did you stop being their father in the driveway?”
His mouth tightened.
“I just got home.”
“I pay the bills.”
“And?”
“And I’m not coming home to start another shift.”
That word sat between us.
Another.
Like fatherhood was overtime.
“I pay the bills.”
“I need help for a few weeks,” I said. “Come home an hour earlier when you can. Take a day if you have one. Ask if you can work from home sometimes.”
“I have a job.”
“So did I before maternity leave.”
“Exactly. You’re home now.”
“With two babies.”
“So did I before maternity leave.”
“You’re better at this anyway.”
“I’m doing it more. That’s why I’m better.”
Miles started crying.
Derek sighed like the sound offended him.
“Can’t you just handle him?”
“With one arm?”
“You have another one.”
“You’re better at this anyway.”
I went quiet.
Then he shrugged.
“You’re the one who wanted kids.”
My head came up.
“We wanted them. You were the one showing me nursery ideas before I was even pregnant.”
“You know what I mean.”
“You’re the one who wanted kids.”
“No, I don’t, Derek. I don’t even know who you are right now.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“I’m exhausted, Hope. Moms don’t get sick days.”
I looked down at my cast.
“I’m injured.”
“That’s not my problem.”
“I don’t even know who you are right now.”
I stared at him.
“I’m asking you to help me a little.”
“You take care of them. That’s your job.”
