“When’s it set?”
“Next week. Spot-on timing since he can swing a swanky resort now. Gonna be a blast!”
“Ryan,” I said careful, “you’re not for real thinking of tagging along, right?”
He glanced up at last, and I caught that defensive scowl brewing.
“Why not? It’s only seven days. Mike’s my top bud, and this is huge for him.”
It felt like a bad dream.
“Your wife had big surgery four weeks back? I can hardly hobble to the mailbox without hurting? We’ve got a tiny newborn who needs us both?”
Ryan dropped his phone and let out a big sigh, like I was the crazy one.
“Babe, you’re killing it with Lily. And Mom said she’d swing by if you need a hand. Just a week.”
“Your mom lives an hour out, Ryan.
And I shouldn’t need backup—my husband should be here.” My tone climbed, but I couldn’t rein it in. “I can’t even hoist stuff heavier than the baby. Can’t drive.
How’s this even up for debate?”
“Listen, I’ve been fried too, alright?” Ryan hopped up and paced. “This whole parent gig’s a lot for us both. A quick breather might help everybody.”
A breather?
He wanted time off from his month-old girl and his wife who could hardly fend for herself? “Fine,” I snapped. “Go.
Enjoy your trip.”
Ryan’s mug lit up like he hit the jackpot. “For real? You’re cool with it?”
I wasn’t cool with it.
Never would be. But I knew fighting more would just paint me as the bad guy in his tale. He pecked my forehead like it was no big deal.
“You’re the greatest, Emily. I’ll square it when I’m back, swear.”
Next morning, I peeked from the window as his ride hauled him to the airport, leaving me clutching our wailing girl. That week without Ryan dragged like forever—the toughest seven days ever.
Each dawn, I’d wake wishing it was a nightmare, that my man hadn’t ditched us in our weakest spot. But Lily’s cries would hit, slamming me back to truth. Early days were rough.
Lily hit a growth spurt, nursing round the clock. I’d park in one chair for hours, scared to shift much with the ache. Ryan’s messages trickled in sparse.
“Beach is epic! Sun’s blazing!” popped with a snap of him and Mike toasting brews. Next came a shot of upscale eats, tagged “Seafood heaven!”
I’d glare at those while Lily howled in my hold and my top soaked in puke, baffled how he tuned out our mess at home.
Day five, I ran on fumes and panic. I’d rung his mom, Susan, twice, but guilt gnawed at bugging her. She had her own world, and this was his mess to own—he’d picked sand and sun over us.
Rock bottom hit day six when Lily spiked a low fever. I dialed the kid doc in freak-out mode. The nurse walked me through red flags, but I felt lost and terrified solo.
That night, I buzzed Ryan thrice. No pickup. At last, homecoming day rolled in.
I knew his flight deets from the scrap on the counter, tossed like junk. Morning flew by trying to fix my look—tough when sleep’s capped at two-hour chunks for a week. Deep down, I clung to hope he’d barge in sorry and set to fix us.
Tires crunched the drive at 3 p.m. My pulse hammered as I spied from the pane. Ryan hopped out tanned and chill, worlds from the drained wreck he’d left behind.
But hold up—another ride idled in the drive. Susan’s. And there she stood on the porch, face set like stone, the grimmest I’d seen.
A screaming yellow bag hulked beside her, like she aimed to camp out. Ryan neared the door grinning, but spotting Mom in his path drained his color to ghost. “Mom?” Ryan’s tone cracked like a kid’s.
“What’re you doing here?”
Susan folded her arms and dug in her heels. “No entry till we hash this out big time, Ryan.”
Ryan reeled back, his beach vibe crumbling quick. “Mom, not now.
Not out here.” He darted eyes like nosy folks might gawk. “Oh, it’s happening right here,” Susan fired. “You ditched your wife—fresh off major surgery—with a brand-new baby for a week to goof on the sand with pals.
Know how risky that was?”
I hovered inside the door, cradling Lily, tears pricking. No one had backed me like this in ages. “It wasn’t risky,” Ryan mumbled weak.
“Emily’s good. Baby’s fine. All sorted.”
“All sorted?” Susan’s pitch spiked like never.
“Ryan, your wife hit me up twice this week, wiped out and spooked. Dealt a fever freak alone ’cause you ghosted calls for drinks.”
Ryan flushed beet. “I was off!
Needed the downtime!”
“Downtime?” Susan advanced, and he tripped back. “Your wife needed a teammate. Your girl needed her dad.
They got nada but a bailout when it counted.”
I piped up shaky but sure. “Susan’s spot on, Ryan. You bailed when I could hardly manage me, let alone a baby.”
Ryan swung to me, eyes pleading.
“Babe, seriously? Teaming with Mom against me? One week, that’s it.”
“One week that stretched forever,” I shot.
“One week I doubted our whole marriage. One week I saw you bolt when it gets rough.”
Susan jabbed her bag. “Packed for two weeks flat.
If you’re not manning up as hubby and dad, I’ll bunk here and prop Emily. But no strutting in like it’s all good.”
Ryan ping-ponged stares between us, clocking his smooth talk was toast. “This is nuts,” he grumbled low, spark gone.
“Nuts is a grown guy picking a getaway over his crew’s safety,” Susan zinged. “I taught you better, Ryan. Your dad’d hang his head.”
That stung him real—Dad’d been gone three years, and that jab sliced true.
Ryan froze another beat. Then he spun and trudged street-ward. “Where to?” I hollered.
“Mike’s,” he tossed over his shoulder. “Since my own roof’s off-limits now.”
As his next ride peeled out, Susan faced me, eyes misty. “I’m gutted, sweetie.
Didn’t raise him to ghost his own like that.”
I lost it then, bawling harder than the whole week. Susan eased Lily from me and pulled me into the coziest squeeze in forever. “You’re not flying solo anymore,” she breathed.
“Never again.”
