I woke to sunlight on the nursery wall.
For a few seconds, I forgot where I was.
Then Lily made a small noise from her crib, and I remembered the previous evening.
I sat up carefully.
My body still ached, and my shoulders felt stiff from holding the baby through the night.
But I was not afraid to get out of bed.
There was a clean robe hanging on the back of the door.
Someone had left a glass of water on the bedside table.
I drank it before picking up Lily.
The ordinary kindness of those things affected me more than I expected.
I had not asked anyone to prepare them.
Someone had simply thought about what I might need.
Downstairs, I could hear dishes being moved in the kitchen.
My father was already awake.
I changed Lily, wrapped her in a clean blanket, and carried her down.
He was standing beside the counter with a cup of coffee.
When he saw me, he put it down.
“Good morning.”
“Morning.”
He looked at Lily.
“How was the night?”
“Better than I expected.”
“Good.”
He did not ask whether I had spoken to Emmett.
I appreciated that.
We sat together for breakfast.
I ate slowly while Lily rested against me.
My father had arranged for the nursery to have the things we needed, but he did not behave as though I had become a project that required his supervision.
He talked about ordinary things.
The weather.
A delivery that had arrived late.
A tree near the driveway that needed attention.
I found myself listening to him as if I had not heard anyone speak casually in years.
Then my phone vibrated.
Emmett's name appeared on the screen.
I turned it over without opening the message.
My father noticed, but he said nothing.
A moment later, the phone vibrated again.
I finally looked.
Emmett had asked when I planned to return home.
There was no question about Lily.
No apology.
No mention of his mother's message.
Just a request for a time.
I stared at the screen.
I could feel the old habit returning.
I wanted to explain that I needed a little space.
I wanted to reassure him that I was not trying to punish him.
I wanted to tell him that I loved him and that I hoped we could resolve the situation.
I had spent so much of our marriage making sure he never had to sit too long with discomfort.
I was tempted to do it again.
Instead, I put the phone down.
I finished my breakfast.
Then I took Lily upstairs and changed her.
By the time I returned to the sitting room, another message had arrived.
This one asked whether I intended to keep his daughter away from him.
I read it twice.
The words were so different from what had actually happened that I wondered whether we had been part of the same evening.
I had not told Emmett he could not see Lily.
I had not said he could not call.
I had simply left a house where I felt unwanted and gone somewhere I could recover.
I called him.
He answered quickly.
“Finally.”
I stood near the window.
“Don't speak to me like that.”
“I've been trying to reach you.”
“I answered your call last night.”
“And then you hung up.”
“Because you weren't listening.”
He exhaled sharply.
“I'm trying to understand what you want from me.”
I looked down at Lily, who was lying in my arms with her eyes open.
“I wanted you to ask me whether I wanted to go to dinner with you.”
“I explained why you shouldn't come.”
“You explained why it was easier for everyone if I stayed home.”
“Because Lily is six days old.”
“And I am her mother.”
He fell silent.
I continued before I could lose my nerve.
“I needed you to think about what that meant for me, too.”
“You were tired, Nora. I thought you would appreciate the chance to rest.”
“If that was what you wanted, you could have stayed with us.”
“I wanted to see my mother before she left.”
“And I wanted to spend an evening with my husband.”
Neither of us spoke for a moment.
I could hear him moving around the house.
I imagined him standing beside the kitchen island, looking at the place where I had left my key.
“Your mother sent me a message,” I said.
“What message?”
I told him.
There was a pause.
“She was upset,” he said at last.
I closed my eyes.
That was his defense.
Not that the message was cruel.
Not that his mother had crossed a line.
She was upset.
As though her feelings explained everything and mine needed no explanation at all.
“Did you know she felt that way?”
“I don't know what she meant by it.”
“You were sitting beside her at dinner.”
“That doesn't mean I agree with everything she says.”
“Then why haven't you said that?”
He did not answer.
I heard a chair scrape across the floor.
“Nora, I can't fix every problem between you and my mother.”
“I didn't ask you to.”
“You seem to expect me to take sides.”
“I expected you to remember that I was your wife.”
My voice broke on the last word.
I stopped and took a breath.
Lily moved in my arms.
I adjusted her gently, giving myself a moment before speaking again.
“I am not asking you to stop loving your mother,” I said. “I'm asking you to stop acting like loving her means you have to leave me out.”
He remained quiet.
Then he asked whether I was coming home that day.
“No.”
“How long are you planning to stay there?”
“I don't know yet.”
“You can't just leave every time we have a disagreement.”
“This wasn't an ordinary disagreement.”
He started to respond, but I interrupted him.
“I am not making decisions about our whole marriage this morning. I am taking care of Lily and recovering. We can talk when you are ready to discuss what happened without pretending it was nothing.”
I ended the call before the conversation could turn into another argument.
My hands were trembling.
I sat down on the chair near the window.
I had not shouted.
I had not threatened him.
I had not asked my father to call him or tell him what kind of husband he should be.
I had simply said no.
It felt unfamiliar.
That afternoon, my father came upstairs and asked whether I wanted to sit with him for a while.
I carried Lily into the sitting room.
He was reading something at his desk, but he put it aside when I entered.
“Has Emmett called?”
“Yes.”
“Did you speak?”
“Yes.”
He waited.
“He wants me to come home.”
“And do you want to?”
I looked at Lily.
“I don't know what I want to do about my marriage. I know I don't want to return just because he is uncomfortable with me being here.”
My father nodded.
“That is a reasonable distinction.”
I studied his face.
“You aren't going to tell me what to do?”
“No.”
“Not even if you think I'm making a mistake?”
“Especially then.”
I laughed softly.
He leaned forward and rested his hands on the desk.
“You have to live with the decision, Nora. If I make it for you, you'll spend your time wondering whether you would have chosen differently.”
I had not expected that answer.
I had imagined that being back in my father's house would mean surrendering some of my independence.
Instead, he was giving me room to use it.
I looked at the phone beside me.
Emmett had not sent another message.
For once, I did not feel the need to fill the silence.
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: The Brass Key Stayed in My Bedside Drawer Until My Father Finally Explained Why He Had Prepared More Than a Room for Us
Six Days After Bringing My Daughter Home, I Learned That My Husband Had Made a Decision About Which Family Mattered
Part 6 of 9
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