I lowered him carefully, waited to make sure he wasn’t about to wake again, then eased myself onto the bed.
The visiting nurse had been there recently, and I had told her that my incision had been seeping.
She had been clear.
Limit lifting.
Limit standing.
Rest.
I had nodded as though rest were something I could simply schedule.
That morning, I lay on my side and fell asleep so completely that I didn’t dream.
I woke to the bedroom door opening.
For several seconds, I had no idea what time it was.
Then I saw Roberta standing at the foot of the bed with her hands on her hips.
She hadn’t knocked.
She rarely did.
“It’s after nine,” she said.
I blinked at her.
My mouth felt dry.
“What?”
“The sun’s been up for hours.”
I pushed myself slightly higher against the pillow and immediately felt the pull in my abdomen.
Leo was still sleeping.
Roberta continued.
“I’ve been waiting for breakfast.”
I stared at her, trying to understand what I was hearing.
“Breakfast?”
“Yes. Eggs. Toast. And there’s no coffee made.”
For a moment I thought she had to be joking.
She started talking about how a proper kitchen should be kept. Then she moved into familiar territory, explaining how quickly she had been back on her feet after having children.
“I was cooking full meals within a week,” she said.
I looked toward the clock.
I had been asleep for barely five hours, and not five continuous hours in any meaningful sense.
“Leo was up until almost four.”
“You have a baby. Babies wake up.”
“I know.”
“You can’t use that as an excuse to stay in bed all morning.”
My fingers tightened around the edge of the blanket.
“I’m not using anything as an excuse.”
She made a small sound of disbelief.
“You’re soft, Ivy. That’s the problem.”
I closed my eyes for a second.
When I opened them again, I forced myself to speak calmly.
“My incision was seeping yesterday. The visiting nurse told me to limit how long I stand and how much I lift.”
Roberta’s expression barely changed.
“There are eggs in the fridge,” I continued. “Coffee pods are beside the machine. Please help yourself. I’ll be up in about an hour, and if you still want something, I’ll make it then.”
She stared at me.
I waited.
Finally, she turned and walked out.
I thought that was the end of it.
I thought she had gone to the kitchen.
Less than two minutes later, I heard her footsteps again.
The door opened.
Roberta came back carrying the large glass pitcher I kept near the bed. I used it when I needed water while preparing Leo’s formula during the night.
The pitcher was full.
I barely had time to register that before she stepped closer and tipped it over me.
The water hit my face first.
Cold.
Sudden.
I inhaled sharply and jerked upright.
Water ran through my hair and down the back of my neck. It soaked my pajama top, the sheets, and the gauze covering my incision.
Leo startled awake.
His cry broke through the room.
“What are you doing?”
My voice barely sounded like mine.
Roberta lowered the empty pitcher.
“There. Maybe now you’re awake.”
I reached for Leo instinctively, turning him away from the wet bedding and pulling him against me.
My hands were shaking.
Not because the water was cold.
Because I couldn’t process the fact that she had actually done it.
Then I looked toward the bedroom doorway.
Wade was standing there.
He hadn’t just arrived.
I knew immediately that he had seen it.
His arms were loosely crossed.
He wasn’t horrified.
He wasn’t rushing toward me.
He wasn’t asking his mother what she had done.
There was a small expression on his face that was almost a smirk.
Not a broad smile.
Nothing dramatic.
That somehow made it worse.
He looked as if he were watching something mildly interesting on television.
Something that had nothing to do with him.
For years afterward, I knew I would remember that expression more clearly than the water.
I looked directly at him.
“Wade?”
He uncrossed his arms.
“Everybody needs to calm down.”
That was it.
Not, Mom, what were you thinking?
Not, Ivy, are you okay?
Everybody needs to calm down.
Something in me became very still.
I had expected anger.
Instead, what came was clarity.
Every debt I had paid.
Every vague explanation.
Every night I had worked while he slept.
Every time I had defended him to myself.
Every time I had told myself he would change once the next thing happened.
Marriage.
Pregnancy.
Fatherhood.
All of it seemed to line up at once.
I looked at Wade and understood that the future I had been waiting for was not coming.
He had already made his choice.
He had just made it in my bedroom doorway.
I pulled a dry blanket around Leo and wiped the moisture from his face.
Then I placed him carefully in the bassinet.
My pajama top clung to my skin.
The gauze at my incision was wet.
My legs felt unsteady when I stood.
Roberta was still there.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
I didn’t answer.
I crossed the bedroom slowly and went to the wardrobe.
In the bottom drawer was a folder I had kept since before the wedding.
I pulled it out.
Wade followed me into the hall.
“Ivy, seriously.”
I kept walking.
In the kitchen, I placed the folder on the counter and opened it.
The condo deed.
Original purchase documents.
My name.
My purchase date.
My address.
All of it.
Roberta looked at the papers and then at me.
“Read the name,” I said.
She frowned.
“What?”
“The name on the ownership documents. Read it.”
Wade stepped closer.
“Come on.”
“No.”
It was the first word I had said that morning that felt completely effortless.
I looked at Roberta.
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