Chapter 3

Daniel smiled too. "He looks just like you."

I looked at that little face, and I felt completely calm.

The three chances weren't a way for him to save face.

They were the final line I was drawing for myself and my son.

After three, I would never look back.

In the early hours of my third day after delivery, the pain from my incision woke me up.

The incision burned and throbbed, and my engorged breasts were hard and heavy, pressing on my chest.

I felt around in the dark for the call button. Next to me, the bed was empty.

No one was on the cot. The blanket was cold and neatly folded.

My phone screen was lit up. The Markham family group chat had dozens of unread messages.

My mother-in-law had posted a photo at two in the morning.

Daniel sat in Rebecca's living room wrapped in his jacket, while Rebecca sat next to him, head down, crying.

The caption read: [Daniel was so worried about Rebecca that he went over in the middle of the night to stay with her. Such a loyal, big-hearted man. Rebecca's parents can rest easy in heaven.]

Below it, a string of relatives chimed in, all praising him for being so responsible and for never forgetting a kindness.

I did the math.

From ten last night until four in the morning, Daniel had spent six hours at Rebecca's.

Meanwhile, no one at the hospital had checked on me or my newborn.

Once that wave of pain passed, I picked up my phone and called him.

The first time, no one answered.

The second time, it rang almost ten times before he picked up. It was quiet in the background, but I could faintly hear a woman trying to stifle her sobs.

"Claire? Why are you up? Is your incision hurting?"

His voice was low, with a trace of panic he tried to hide.

"Where are you?" I asked.

He paused for a second, then tried to sound casual.

"Something came up in my department. We just got an emergency patient, so I'm keeping an eye on things. I'll be back in your room soon."

He was sure I'd just given birth and wouldn't have the energy to look at the family chat. It never even occurred to him that I might catch him.

I didn't call him out. I kept my voice even.

"I think I have a fever.

"The baby's spitting up, and my incision hurts too much to take care of him. The aide isn't here yet. Come back."

He immediately tensed up.

"Is it bad? Is he choking? I'll be right..."

Before he could finish, my mother-in-law screamed on the other end, sobbing, followed by the sound of something shattering.

"Daniel! Rebecca cut her wrist... Hurry..."

Emily's voice cut in too, frantic.

"Daniel, grab the bandages, quick!"

After a chaotic burst of noise, Daniel spoke again, clearly rushed, his words tumbling out.

"Claire, have a nurse check on you and the baby first. I can't get away right now. Don't panic. I'll be there as soon as I've dealt with this!"

He hung up.

When I called back, the line was busy every time.

I leaned against the headboard and slowly let out a heavy breath.

My incision still hurt, and my chest was swollen and stiff.

I forced myself to burp the baby and wipe his mouth. Once everything was taken care of, I picked up my phone again, and that was when I saw the text he'd sent ten minutes earlier.

[My department called an urgent consult. I'm going to handle it. I'll be back soon. If the pain gets bad, call the nurse. Don't tough it out.]

Below it, he'd added: [Remember to put a warm washcloth on your chest. Don't just put up with the engorgement. Tell the aide right away.]

I stared at those words and suddenly remembered when we'd first gotten together.

Back then, whenever I got sick, I was used to toughing it out alone. He'd sat by my side with red-rimmed eyes and told me I was allowed to be a little needy, that I could lean on him and never had to hold anything in.