If Tom wouldn't show up, then fine. He never needed to show up again.
The resentment surged up in me.
I warned myself. Don't hate. Don't stew.
It would make me sick.
It would clog my milk.
The first would only hurt me.
The second would hurt me and my baby both.
I was a mother now. For my child's sake, I had to be strong.
The first day home.
Tom happened to be packing his suitcase.
"Maggie, I'm headed to the Capital for a few days. There's an exhibition."
"Just focus on your recovery. My mom will take good care of you."
My mother-in-law took the baby with a smile, cradling her against her chest, all tenderness.
"Go on, son, don't worry about a thing. Your career comes first."
"I'll take good care of my precious granddaughter!"
Elena swept into the room in a rush.
"Mr. Henson, hurry up. The driver's already waiting downstairs."
Tom pinched our daughter's little cheek, looking almost reluctant to leave.
"Be good, sweetheart. Daddy will bring you a present when he comes home."
Then his brow furrowed.
"Maggie, why do you smell so bad? Do you even shower?"
I clenched my jaw.
Said nothing.
The whole time I was in the hospital, I'd had nothing but the gown they gave me. No change of clothes.
He never once asked me what I needed.
He never once asked me if I was hungry.
He never once asked me if I was in pain.
Forget it. Whether he was truly oblivious or only pretending, it didn't matter anymore.
As far as I was concerned, my child's father was already dead.
Tom picked up his suitcase and left with Elena.
Before she went, Elena turned and gave me a long, deliberate look.
Her eyes settled on my belly, still swollen.
"Ma'am, you've already had the baby. How come your stomach is still so big?"
Tom glanced back, his brow creasing.
"You never used to be like this. You should lose some weight."
The two of them had barely stepped out before my mother-in-law shoved the baby into my arms.
"You had her, you carry her. My back hurts."
She'd just finished griping about her back when she turned around, changed her clothes, and went off to the dance class over in the next neighborhood.
So I called in a postpartum nurse too.
One to handle the baby, one to handle the cooking.
That way I'd have more time to take care of myself.
After a full day out gallivanting, my mother-in-law slammed the door coming in.
"What's the meaning of this?"
"The help only cooks for you and not for me?"
"You trying to starve me to death?"
I was nursing the baby. I didn't even look up.
"The nurse is only here for me and the baby."
"You've got two hands and two feet. You can cook for yourself."
A little while later, my phone rang.
It was Tom.
"Maggie! My mom is working herself to the bone for you, and you treat her like this?"
"She cried on the phone for ages."
"She's your elder. How could you—"
I cut him off.
"Tom, I'm exhausted. I don't want to get into this with you."
"Whether your mom is run ragged or not has nothing to do with me."
Tom was indignant.
"Margaret, you never used to be like this!"
I hung up.
Drew in a deep breath.
"Tom, you never used to be like this either."
Once, when I'd nicked my finger, he'd ached for me like it was the end of the world.
"These hands were meant for painting."
"Now you've hurt yourself cooking for me. From now on, I'll be twice as good to you."
Back then, out in the world, I poured everything into supporting his career.
At home, I worked hard at learning how to be a good wife.
And now, after a labor that turned into an emergency C-section, after walking right up to death's door and back—
all he had for me was one line.
"You never used to be like this."
Elena updated her social media feed.
In a trendy restaurant in the Capital, she and Tom were clinking glasses.
Like a couple head over heels in love.
Even the photo was dripping with atmosphere.
