PART 1 — HE DROPPED HIS SUITCASE
My husband came home from his beach vacation on Sunday evening looking tanned, relaxed, and completely unaware that someone was waiting for him inside our house.
I was sitting on the living room couch when I heard his key turn in the front door.
For some reason, I looked at the clock.
6:17 p.m.
I still remember the exact time.
The door opened.
“Grace? I’m home!”
Trevor sounded cheerful.
Too cheerful.
His suitcase rolled across the hardwood floor, and a second later he appeared in the hallway wearing shorts, sandals, sunglasses on top of his head, and a bright souvenir T-shirt from the beach town where he had spent the last several days.
He looked rested.
I looked like I hadn’t slept in a week.
Because I hadn’t.
Trevor smiled when he saw me.
“I brought you something.”
Then his eyes dropped to the tiny bundle sleeping against my chest.
His smile disappeared.
He stopped walking.
For a few seconds, he just stared.
Then a soft cry came from the bassinet beside the couch.
His head snapped toward it.
There was another newborn inside.
His newborn.
“Our babies are home?”
I said nothing.
Trevor looked from the bassinets to me.
“Grace…”
I adjusted the blanket over the baby in my arms.
“When did you get discharged?”
“Friday.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“Friday? Why didn’t you tell me?”
I almost laughed.
Almost.
But laughing still hurt my incision.
So I simply looked at him.
Trevor seemed to realize how ridiculous the question sounded.
He cleared his throat.
“Where’s your mom?”
“She went home.”
“Then who’s helping you?”
Before I could answer, I heard a cabinet close in the kitchen.
Trevor froze.
He looked toward the doorway.
“Who’s here?”
I didn’t answer.
Footsteps came from the kitchen.
Slow.
Calm.
Unhurried.
Then a voice said:
“You’re finally home.”
Every bit of color disappeared from Trevor’s face.
He knew that voice.
His suitcase handle slipped from his fingers.
The bag crashed onto the floor.
“No.”
The footsteps came closer.
Trevor actually took one step backward.
“No way.”
Then the person walked into the room.
Trevor stared.
And shouted:
“No! Not YOU!”
I looked down at my sleeping daughter.
For the first time in days, I felt something other than exhaustion.
Because Trevor had left home believing he could take his vacation, return before my scheduled C-section, apologize if necessary, and move on.
But a lot had happened while he was away.
And he had no idea just how badly his little vacation had changed everything.
Five days earlier, I had begged him not to go.
He went anyway.
