Chapter 1
I believed my husband when he promised we would raise our triplets together. Six weeks after their birth, I was still recovering, barely sleeping, and doing everything alone. Then he announced that he had earned a two-week vacation, and I decided he wouldn't leave with his perfect-father image intact.
"You really did this to me?!"
Ethan's scream burst through my phone at four in the afternoon.
Tara startled against my chest. Timothy kicked inside his bassinet, and Tessa began crying before I'd even finished warming her bottle.
I lowered the volume with sticky fingers.
"You really did this to me?!"
"What did I do, Ethan?" I asked.
"You emptied my suitcase!"
A door slammed behind him.
Then I heard a man ask, "What is all that?"
Ethan had opened the suitcase in front of his friends.
Just as I'd planned.
"What is all that?"
"My clothes are gone, Kyra," he snapped. "You packed diapers, feeding charts, that stupid shirt, and a baby book."
"The book you promised to read."
"You made me look like a liar."
Tessa's cries grew louder.
I shifted Tara to my shoulder and reached for the warm bottle.
"My clothes are gone, Kyra."
"No, Ethan," I said. "I stopped helping you look like a good husband."
***
Six months earlier, I wouldn't have believed those words could come out of my mouth.
Back then, Ethan had been the man who rubbed my swollen feet, brought me toast in bed, and talked to my stomach every night.
He'd begged for a big family.
Six months earlier.
When we learned I was carrying triplets, he cried harder than I did.
"We're going to be a team," he promised. "Every feeding. Every diaper. Every terrible night."
I believed him.
At a barbecue during my seventh month, Ethan's friends, Marcus and Ben, handed him a gift bag.
Ethan pulled out a black shirt that read:
"WORLD'S MOST EXHAUSTED FATHER."
"We're going to be a team."
"I think I'm the one who's going to be exhausted," I said from my chair.
Ethan pulled it on and posed.
"Diapers, bottles, laundry, night feedings," he announced. "I've got it all."
I took his picture.
"I'm saving that speech to memory."
He leaned down and kissed my forehead.
"I'm saving that speech to memory."
"Save it. I'll prove it, my love."
***
Then Tara, Timothy, and Tessa arrived.
The C-section left me moving as though every part of my body had been stitched too tightly. Even sitting up hurt. Laughing hurt. Coughing felt impossible.
Our first night home, all three babies started crying within minutes of one another.
"Save it. I'll prove it, my love."
I reached for Tara and gasped.
"Ethan, can you bring her to me?"
He opened one eye.
"I just lay down."
"I can't lift her from here."
He sighed, carried Tara over, and placed her in my arms.
"I can't lift her from here."
Then he got back into bed.
"Timothy needs his bottle," I whispered.
"You're already awake."
I stared at him.
"So are you."
"I've got work tomorrow."
I stared at him.
I looked at the three bassinets beside our bed.
"And I've got three babies who can't survive without us."
He turned toward the wall.
On the third night, he entered the room carrying his pillow.
"I'm moving into the guest room."
Tessa was against my shoulder. Timothy had milk running down his chin, and Tara was crying again.
"And I've got three babies."
"For how long?"
"Until they sleep through the night."
"They're newborns."
"I need eight hours if I'm going to function at work."
"I need more than 40 minutes if I'm going to function here."
"You don't have meetings."
"They're newborns."
I looked at our children.
"No. Just tiny human beings whose lives depend on me."
Ethan rubbed his face.
"Why do you always have to make me feel guilty?"
"I thought guilt came after doing something wrong."
His mouth tightened.
I looked at our children.
"I'm not arguing about this, Kyra."
He left.
***
During the day, he counted every small thing he did.
"I changed two diapers," he announced one afternoon.
I checked the care sheet taped beside the fridge.
He left.
"There have been 23."
"You don't need to keep score."
"I started writing things down because I can't remember what hour it is."
"You always make it sound like I'm doing nothing."
I was washing bottles while rocking Timothy's carrier with my foot.
"There have been 23."
"You held Tessa for six minutes."
"I work all day."
"So do I."
"You're home."
My hands stopped in the soapy water.
"So are the babies."
He walked away before I could say more.
"I work all day."
Still, I covered for him.
When his mother called and asked if he was helping, I looked toward the guest room door.
"He's tired from work," I said.
"Is he doing the night feedings?"
"He's trying."
"Don't overwhelm him," she warned. "Men don't always know what to do with newborns. He's probably afraid he'll drop one."
"Don't overwhelm him."
I almost told her that women didn't leave the hospital with secret instructions hidden in their bodies.
Ethan stepped into the hall after I ended the call. He reached for the guest room door.
"Try to keep them quiet tonight. I've got an early call."
I looked at him.
"Did you hear yourself?"
"What?"
"I've got an early call."
"I had surgery six weeks ago. I'm feeding three babies all night, and you're asking me to keep them quiet for you."
"I can't lose my job."
"And I can't collapse."
He opened the door.
"You'll be fine."
Then he closed it.
"I can't lose my job."
***
That night, Tessa wouldn't settle unless I held her upright.
Timothy needed another bottle before I finished feeding Tara.
My water sat three feet away, but I couldn't reach it without waking two of the babies.
I called Ethan.
His phone buzzed through the wall.
He declined the call.
Tessa wouldn't settle.
I stared at the screen.
Then I looked at the three tiny faces around me.
"All right," I whispered. "I heard you."
***
The next morning, I began logging every feeding, diaper change, pumping session, chore, and minute of sleep.
A week later, Ethan walked into the kitchen wearing sunglasses on top of his head.
He placed a printed booking confirmation on the counter.
"I heard you."
"I booked a trip to Cabo."
I looked at the paper.
"For us?"
"For me."
I waited for him to laugh.
He didn't.
"You booked yourself a vacation?"
"I booked a trip to Cabo."
"I need to recover."
"From what?"
"Work. The crying. This house."
He waved one hand toward the nursery.
"I haven't slept longer than 40 minutes at a time in six weeks."
"That's different."
"Why?"
"I need to recover."
"Because this is what you wanted, Kyra."
"I wanted children," I said. "I didn't want to become a single mother while married."
"I love them."
"Then help care for them."
"I can't help anyone if I fall apart."
"You haven't helped anyone while holding yourself together, Ethan."
"I love them."
His jaw tightened.
"I'm burned out, Kyra."
"So am I."
"I need two weeks. I deserve a proper break."
I looked at Timothy's tiny hand curled around my finger.
"Who takes care of me while you're gone?"
"I'm burned out, Kyra."
"You'll manage. Honestly, your hormones are making this bigger than it is."
I looked down at the baby in my arms.
Three children.
Six weeks old.
A body that still hurt when I stood too quickly.
And a husband packing for the beach.
"Your hormones are making this bigger than it is."
May you like
"No," I said. "I think I've finally started seeing everything for what it is."
He left the room.
