“Nothing.”
That evening, after the twins finally slept, I sat at the table with a notepad. I listed the essential tasks I could not perform safely while injured: baths, evening feedings, carrying them up the stairs, and night duty.
The next night, I slid the paper toward him. “This is the temporary plan while my arm heals.”
He glanced at it. “I’m not following a rigid schedule in my own home.”
“Then tell me what your contribution will be when you get home.”
“I work all day, Hope.”
“I know. But I cannot physically carry both boys or bathe them alone right now.”
“You shouldn’t be risking further injury,” he said.
“I wouldn’t have to if you stepped in,” I replied. “Will you take over these specific tasks until my cast comes off?”
“No.”
I folded the paper. “All right.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I understand your position.”
I packed the essential items for the boys and called my mother to ask if we could stay with her.
“I can’t risk re-injuring my arm because Derek refuses to help,” I explained. “I need to heal so I can care for my children properly.”
An hour later, as my mother helped load the car, Derek walked out. “Where are you going?”
“To my mother’s house.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
“You can’t just leave, Hope.”
“I asked for your help so I could stay. You declined.”
At my mother’s house, my phone rang.
“Bring them back,” Derek said over the line. “I’m their father.”
“Then start acting like one.”
“Do you realize how this makes me look?” he demanded. “What am I supposed to tell my family?”
“Tell them the truth,” I said calmly. “Tell them I fractured my arm, asked for assistance, and you told me parents don’t get sick days.”
There was a long silence. “You’re embarrassing me,” he muttered.
“You weren’t embarrassed when I was asking for help,” I replied before hanging up.
The following evening, Derek arrived at my mother’s house. His attitude had shifted from anger to quiet discomfort.
“My mother called me,” he admitted as he stepped inside. “She asked why you weren’t home, so I explained the situation.”
“And what did she say?”
“She asked why my injured wife had to leave our home just to get basic help with two infants.” He looked down. “I didn’t have an answer for her.”
Just then, Miles began crying in the next room. Derek looked at me out of habit. “Hope?”
“You take care of him,” I said, remaining seated.
“I don’t know what he needs.”
