My hand shook after I put the phone down.
I didn’t feel brave.
I felt terrified.
But terror wasn’t the same as helplessness.
***
Two days later, the front door opened.
Ethan stepped inside with a duffel bag.
He stopped when he saw Ben placing food in our fridge.
“Dropping off dinner, Ethan,” Ben said stiffly. “Someone has to help Kyra.”
“You left me there and came here?”
“Yes.”
Ethan looked at me.
“You let people into our house to judge me?”
Ben picked up Timothy’s bottle and held it out.
“Your turn.”
Ethan took it without thinking.
Then Ben grabbed his keys.
“I’ll bring more food tomorrow, Kyra.”
“Thank you, Ben. I appreciate it more than you know.”
When the door closed, Ethan set the bottle on the counter.
I looked at him.
“Things didn’t get this far. You took them there, Ethan.”
“I was overwhelmed. I wasn’t coping with being a father.”
“You were allowed to be overwhelmed. You were allowed to be tired,” I continued. “You were allowed to be scared. You were allowed to admit that you didn’t know what to do.”
“Because you weren’t allowed to make me carry your share while calling it my choice.”
His eyes dropped.
“I want to fix this.”
I pulled a sheet of paper from the counter.
“A schedule.”
He read the list: evening feedings, bottles, laundry, overnight shifts, appointments, and time for me to eat, shower, and sleep.
“This feels like punishment.”
“Responsibility often feels like punishment when someone else has been carrying yours.”
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?”
“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.
“Tell me what to do,” he said.
“Start washing. I’ll feed them this time. Tomorrow, prepare before they’re hungry.”
