“You don’t know that.”
“Look at me.”
He did.
I had never seen his face like that.
He wasn’t calm.
He was afraid.
But the fear seemed directed inward, toward some calculation he was making.
Then he stood.
“I need one weekend where everything isn’t about pregnancy or recovery or feeding schedules.
I need to feel like a person again.”
My voice dropped.
“So do I.”
That stopped him for a moment.
He looked ashamed.
It should have been enough.
It wasn’t.
He picked up his suitcase from the hallway.
“Call my sister if you need someone.”
“Colin.”
He walked toward the front door.
“Please don’t leave me like this.”
His hand stopped on the knob.
“Don’t turn this into proof that I’m a terrible husband.”
Then he left.
From the nursery window, I watched him put the suitcase in his SUV.
He sat behind the wheel for almost a minute.
I kept expecting the driver’s door to reopen.
Instead the brake lights flashed, and the vehicle disappeared down our street.
My phone was on the dresser.
I crawled toward it.
Each movement made the room tilt.
Lena began crying.
“Mommy’s coming,” I whispered.
I wasn’t.
I could barely move.
When I finally pulled the phone down by its charging cable, a notification filled the screen.
Colin had posted a photograph from inside his car.
He was smiling behind sunglasses.
The caption said, “Thirty-five.
Finally off duty.”
Something inside me went still.
I tried to call emergency services.
My fingers wouldn’t cooperate.
The phone fell from my hand.
I remember Lena’s cries growing distant.
Then I heard a key turn in the front door.
“Mara?”
The voice belonged to Deborah, Colin’s mother.
She had a spare key and had decided to drop off soup before driving to an appointment.
Her grocery bag hit the floor when she saw me.
“Oh my God.”
She was beside me instantly.
Unlike her son, she didn’t debate what qualified as an emergency.
She called an ambulance, unlocked the front door, wrapped a blanket around me, and kept speaking calmly while we waited.
“Stay awake.
Look at me.”
I held her wrist.
“Colin said you told him the bleeding was normal.”
Deborah’s face changed.
“What?”
“He said you told him not to worry.”
“Mara, I never said that.”
The sirens were getting closer.
“He called me yesterday,” she continued.
“He asked how much bleeding was normal after birth.
I told him some bleeding could be expected, but if you were soaking through pads, dizzy, weak, or in severe pain, you needed urgent medical care.”
My mind struggled to keep up.
“He told me the opposite.”
Deborah looked horrified.
Then she said, “I texted him afterward and asked whether he took you in.”
“What did he say?”
Her eyes met mine.
“He said you had already gone to the hospital.”
The paramedics arrived before I could answer.
They asked about the birth, the bleeding, and whether there had been problems involving the placenta.
That question pulled up a memory I had nearly forgotten.
My doctor after delivery.
The placenta separating irregularly.
A pathology review.
A promise that someone would call if there was concern.
“There was something,” I whispered.
The paramedics moved faster.
Deborah rode with us while Lena traveled safely in her infant carrier.
At
