PART 1: THE BREAK I HADN’T “EARNED”
After five years of fertility treatments, I finally became pregnant with triplets.
When the doctor found the third heartbeat, my husband, Ryan, cried beside me. He kept repeating that he could not believe we were going to have three babies.
When Luna, Soleil, and Bodhi were born, they were tiny, noisy, and perfect.
The delivery was difficult, and my recovery was even harder. But once we returned home, nearly every responsibility became mine.
I handled the feedings, bottles, diapers, laundry, cooking, cleaning, and sleepless nights. Ryan went back to work and acted as though earning a paycheck had completed his part of parenting.
One night, I sat on the bathroom floor eating half a granola bar while my hands shook from exhaustion.
Luna was crying. Soleil had just fallen asleep. Bodhi had soaked through another outfit.
I needed one quiet minute.
Ryan appeared in the doorway.
“Can you make them stop crying?” he asked. “I have an early meeting.”
“There are three babies and only one of me,” I replied. “Please help.”
He sighed.
“I work all day, Shannon.”
“So do I.”
“You stay home.”
I stared at him.
“What do you think I do here?”
“You’re a stay-at-home mother. The house and babies are your responsibility.”
“They’re your children too.”
Ryan looked toward the nursery but made no move to enter.
“I need sleep.”
“So do I.”
“It’s different. You don’t have to go to an office.”
Then he walked away.
Two days later, Ryan entered the kitchen smiling at his phone.
“Ian found a rental beside the beach,” he announced.
“What rental?”
“For our trip. Ian, Jason, and me. Five days. We leave tomorrow.”
That was when I noticed his suitcase near the front door.
“You booked a five-day vacation without asking me?”
“Jason arranged it weeks ago.”
“Weeks ago?”
Ryan shrugged as though it were unimportant.
I looked toward the living room, where all three babies needed attention.
“Then we need to arrange help for me.”
“Why?”
“Because I cannot care for three infants alone for five days.”
“You do it every day.”
“And I need help every day.”
Ryan became irritated.
“I work and pay the bills. I deserve a break.”
“What about me?”
He laughed.
“Have you earned a vacation?”
The kitchen became completely silent.
I could barely believe what I had heard.
“I take care of three babies every day and every night.”
“You don’t work.”
“I left my job because we agreed I would stay home.”
“And I’m the one paying for everything.”
“I nearly died giving birth to them.”
“I know.”
“No. You know it happened. You don’t behave as though it mattered.”
Ryan picked up his phone.
“I’m going, Shannon. You haven’t earned a break, and I’m not arguing anymore.”
For months, I had wondered how to make him understand how exhausted and alone I felt.
That afternoon, I finally understood.
He already knew.
He simply did not care enough to help.
The next morning, his friends arrived, honking from the driveway.
Ryan held Luna long enough to take a photograph, then handed her back before she could wrinkle his shirt.
“Try not to make me feel guilty while I’m gone,” he joked.
“I don’t have enough energy to make you feel anything.”
He kissed Luna’s head, collected his suitcase, and left for the beach.
