PART EIGHT: THE STORY HE TRIED TO TELL
Ethan did not return immediately.
That told me more than any apology could have.
He spent the first three days of his vacation calling relatives and friends, telling them I had “lost control” because of postpartum hormones.
According to him, I had sabotaged his luggage, stolen the children, and overreacted to a harmless trip.
Unfortunately for Ethan, he had spent years presenting himself as the world’s most involved future father.
His mother, Diane, called me on the fourth day.
I expected criticism.
Instead, she said, “Did he really leave you alone with all three babies?”
“Yes.”
“For two weeks?”
“Yes.”
She was silent.
Then she asked, “Has he been helping at night?”
“No.”
“With feedings?”
“No.”
“Diapers?”
“Occasionally, if someone is watching.”
Diane exhaled slowly.
“I raised him better than this.”
That afternoon, she called Ethan.
I do not know everything she said, but Megan heard part of the conversation because Ethan called me immediately afterward.
“You called my mother?”
“No. She called me.”
“You turned her against me.”
“You told her your version. She asked for mine.”
“You’re making me look like a monster.”
“I’m describing what happened.”
He lowered his voice.
“I’ll come home early if that’s what you want.”
It was the first time he had offered.
But the offer came only after his mother confronted him.
Not when I begged him.
Not when I told him I was physically struggling.
Not when I said I was afraid I might collapse from exhaustion.
He offered only when his reputation was threatened.
“No,” I said. “Finish your vacation.”
“What?”
“You believed you needed two weeks away from your family. Take them.”
“You’re being spiteful.”
“No. I’m paying attention.”
