A week after I began keeping the logs, Ethan walked into the kitchen wearing sunglasses pushed onto his head and placed a printed reservation on the counter beside a stack of sterilized bottles.
“I booked Cabo.”
I looked from the paper to him.
“For us?”
He hesitated just long enough for the answer to become obvious.
“For me.”
Timothy was sleeping against my chest. I kept one hand beneath his head.
“You booked yourself a vacation.”
“I need some time.”
I waited for the joke.
None came.
“How much time?”
“Two weeks.”
For a few seconds, the only sound in the kitchen was the hum of the refrigerator.
“Two weeks.”
“Kyra, I’m burned out.”
“From what?”
He stared at me as if the answer should have been obvious.
“Work. The crying. Living like this.”
His hand swept toward the nursery.
Living like this.
I looked down at Timothy. His fist was tucked beneath his chin.
“I haven’t slept properly since they were born.”
Ethan rubbed his forehead. “This isn’t a competition.”
“No, because if it were, you’d have to participate.”
His jaw tightened.
“I knew you’d do this.”
“Do what?”
“Make me feel guilty for needing something.”
I stared at the reservation.
“You sleep in another room.”
“I still hear them.”
“You don’t feed them.”
“I work.”
“You barely change them.”
“I help.”
“You held Tessa for six minutes yesterday.”
He spread his hands. “See? This is what I mean. You keep score.”
“Because without the numbers, you get to pretend we’re doing this together.”
He paced toward the counter.
“I need to reset.”
“So do I.”
“You’re their mother.”
The sentence landed softly.
That almost made it worse.
“And you’re their father.”
“I love them.”
“Then care for them.”
He shook his head. “I can’t take care of anybody if I completely burn out.”
I shifted Timothy as he stirred.
“You’ve been protecting yourself from burnout by transferring all of it to me.”
Ethan’s face changed.
For the first time, he looked genuinely angry.
“You wanted kids too, Kyra.”
“I wanted children. I didn’t agree to become a single parent while staying married.”
“That’s dramatic.”
“No. Dramatic would be pretending three six-week-old babies are scenery.”
He looked toward the nursery.
“I deserve a break.”
There it was.
Not I need help.
Not I’m scared.
Not I don’t know how to do this.
I deserve a break.
I looked at Timothy’s fingers curled around mine.
“Who gives me mine?”
“You’ll manage.”
“How?”
“You always do.”
Something about that answer frightened me more than if he had shouted.
He depended on my competence as an excuse for abandoning me.
Then he added, “Your hormones are probably making this feel worse than it is.”
I stared at him.
My abdomen still hurt if I stood too quickly. I had slept in fragments for six weeks. Three babies depended on me for almost every basic need.
And my husband was going to Cabo.
“No,” I said quietly. “I think I’m seeing things more clearly than I have in weeks.”
He left the kitchen.
That evening, I used our shared tablet to order diapers.
A notification appeared across the top of the screen.
We’ll meet you at the resort Thursday. Ben already booked his flight.
I read it twice.
Ethan walked into the room and stopped.
He saw the tablet.
I saw his face.
“You invited Marcus and Ben?”
He exhaled.
“They’re coming for a couple days.”
“You told me this was a solo trip.”
“It basically is.”
“No. Three men at a resort is not a solo trip.”
“You’re getting hung up on wording.”
“You told me you needed to be alone because you were overwhelmed.”
“I need to get away from all this.”
Again, his hand moved toward the nursery.
This time I stood.
Carefully.
My incision pulled as I straightened, but I ignored it.
“All this has names.”
He rolled his eyes.
“Kyra.”
“Say them.”
“What?”
“Our children’s names.”
“Come on.”
“Say them.”
“I know my children’s names.”
“Then say them.”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“Why are you doing this?”
Because I wanted him to hear them.
Because for six weeks he had behaved as if Tara, Timothy, and Tessa were weather conditions happening around him.
Because he had spent months telling people what an involved father he intended to become, and now he couldn’t tolerate being asked to speak their names during an argument.
He finally muttered them.
“Tara. Timothy. Tessa. Happy?”
“No.”
“Kyra, I need a break with the guys.”
“At least that’s finally true.”
He looked at me.
“What?”
“You lied.”
“I left out details because I knew you’d overreact.”
That sentence made my decision for me.
I picked up my phone and called Ben.
Ethan stepped forward. “What are you doing?”
Ben answered quickly.
“Hey, Kyra. Everything okay? How are the babies?”
“Did Ethan tell you I was going on this trip?”
Silence.
Then: “What?”
“Did he tell you I was staying home alone with all three babies?”
Ethan’s face went pale.
“Kyra, hang up.”
I turned away from him.
Ben sounded confused. “He said you wanted some time alone with them.”
I stopped moving.
“What?”
“He said you wanted bonding time. That you thought having him around was making things harder.”
I looked at Ethan.
He stared at the floor.
Ben continued cautiously. “He also said his mom was helping you.”
“No one is helping me.”
Another silence.
Longer this time.
“Kyra,” Ben said, “I didn’t know.”
“I believe you.”
I ended the call.
Ethan immediately started talking.
“You had no right—”
I raised one hand.
He stopped.
Perhaps he saw something in my face that had not been there before.
I wasn't going to argue anymore.
That frightened him more than anger.
“You told your friends I asked you to leave.”
“I didn’t want them judging you.”
I almost admired the speed of the lie.
“Judging me?”
“For being overwhelmed. For needing space.”
“So you made me responsible for your decision.”
“I was simplifying things.”
“No. You were protecting your image.”
He scoffed.
But he did not deny it.
Later, after the babies finally slept, I stood in the doorway of the guest room.
Ethan was downstairs.
His suitcase lay open across the bed.
Everything inside had been packed with the care he never seemed capable of applying to his children.
Resort shirts.
Swimming trunks.
New sandals.
Sunscreen.
Aftershave.
A sleep mask.
I stared at the suitcase for a long time.
Then I began unpacking it.
I hung his shirts back in the closet.
His shorts followed.
So did the sandals.
I left one clean outfit and basic toiletries. I wasn't trying to strand him without necessities.
I wanted something else.
I walked into the nursery and removed a stack of newborn diapers from the changing station.
Into the suitcase they went.
Then the unopened earplugs he had bought after moving into the guest room.
His sleep mask.
The parenting book he had promised to read months ago.
A copy of one week of my logs.
Feedings.
Diapers.
Pumping.
Laundry.
Sleep.
Beside Ethan’s name, there was mostly empty space.
Then I found the black fatherhood shirt.
WORLD’S MOST EXHAUSTED FATHER.
I folded it neatly.
Last came the photograph from the barbecue.
Ethan stood smiling in that same shirt, one arm around Marcus and the other around Ben.
On the back, I wrote a short message.
Your audience is waiting.
I put the picture inside.
Then I added one final note.
Six weeks of avoiding every difficult part must have been exhausting.
I closed the suitcase.
The zipper sounded astonishingly loud in the quiet room.
The following morning, Ethan wheeled it toward the front door without checking anything inside.
He kissed my cheek.
“Try not to stay angry the entire time.”
I adjusted Tara’s blanket.
“Try not to confuse consequences with anger.”
He frowned.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ll figure it out.”
He stared at me for a second.
Then his phone buzzed.
He looked down, smiled at whatever message had appeared, and walked outside.
I watched through the window as he loaded the suitcase into the car.
For the first time since the triplets were born, I didn't cover for him.
I didn't warn him.
I didn't rescue him from the consequences of what he had chosen.
And several hours later, when my phone began ringing, I already knew he had finally opened the suitcase.
Click Here to continue read next: PART3: The Suitcase Opened in Front of Ethan’s Friends, and Every Lie He Had Used to Protect Himself Came Apart
Six Weeks After Bringing Three Babies Home, Kyra Realized the Man Sleeping Down the Hall Had Already Checked Out
Part 2 of 8
