I held his gaze.
“Then we stop pretending this is a partnership, and I start planning a life without you.”
Ethan looked up.
“Are you threatening divorce?”
“This feels like punishment.”
“I’m telling you what refusing would mean.”
For once, he didn’t argue.
The next month didn’t erase what Ethan had done, and it wasn’t easy.
Ethan mixed up bottles and forgot laundry in the washer. One night, he also forgot to prepare clean bottles before the babies woke.
I found him at the sink while all three cried.
“Tell me what to do,” he said.
For once, he didn’t argue.
“Start washing. I’ll feed them this time. Tomorrow, prepare before they’re hungry.”
A few nights later, he called from the nursery.
“Kyra, Timothy won’t settle.”
“What have you tried?”
“Walking. Rocking. Singing.”
“Then keep going.”
“Kyra, Timothy won’t settle.”
“He doesn’t want me.”
I looked toward the doorway.
“He doesn’t know you yet.”
That silenced him.
Ethan sat with Timothy instead of handing him back. Ten minutes later, the crying eased.
“He doesn’t want me.”
A week after that, Ethan’s mother called.
“I heard he came home early,” she said.
“He did.”
“Is everything fixed?”
“No. But he’s finally doing the work.”
Ethan heard me. This time, I didn’t soften it.
“He did.”
Ben and Marcus arranged a meal rotation with their wives. I accepted the food, and when someone held the babies, I slept instead of cleaning.
One morning, Ethan found the old fatherhood shirt folded on the bed.
“Are you giving this back?”
“No.”
He frowned.
“No.”
“You wanted the title,” I said. “Now earn it.”
Tara cried from the nursery.
Ethan set the shirt down.
“I’ve got her.”For illustrative purposes only
He went without waiting for instructions or praise.
I sat at the kitchen table and wrapped both hands around my coffee.
“I’ve got her.”
It was still warm.
Ethan had returned expecting forgiveness. Instead, he had been given responsibility.
For the first time since our triplets came home, I was no longer carrying four people.
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