We Stopped Waiting

Our son, Leo, opened his mouth, but the wound inside was so raw he couldn't even cry. Only weak, agonized gasps came out.

I shouted, "Leo's mouth is burned raw. Get the car. We need to get him to the ER!"

"I got them!"

The second the words left my mouth, Sebastian practically launched off the couch. His shout of triumph drowned out Leo's whimpering.

Then he was rapid-firing voice messages to Vivian. The two of them went back and forth, laughing like nothing else in the world existed.

I tried to dab at the wound with a cotton swab, but Leo thrashed in pain. The fragile blister tore open instantly. Bright red blood mixed with tissue fluid came pouring out, running down the corner of his mouth.

Only when Sebastian saw the blood did he frown and finally, belatedly, wipe the grin off his face.

"It's just a burn. Ask ChatGPT, Claude, whatever. Look at him, he's crying."

Then he got up, phone still in hand, and walked into the bedroom.

Since Leo was born, I'd been drowning in postpartum anxiety.

Every time I had a question about caring for him, Sebastian would shove his phone at me, annoyed.

"If you don't know something, ask AI. At the rate you ask questions, my whole paycheck's going to the hospital."

The best temperature for formula. What to do about jaundice. How to bring down a fever at night.

So those questions got asked in the dead of night, to AI.

Sometimes the AI's answers were vague or wrong, and I'd have to bundle Leo up and rush to the hospital alone, fumbling through it by myself.

But when Vivian's drain clogged, or she got drunk and needed someone to look after her, or she just wanted company on her birthday, Sebastian was there at the drop of a hat, eager as a bodyguard on call around the clock.

I'd mocked him more times than I could count.

"Didn't you say AI solves everything? Why doesn't she just ask AI when she's got a problem?"

But Sebastian would just scroll through his phone and shake his head.

"AI can't guarantee her safety, Joyce. Don't be so hard on Vivian."

Thinking back on all of it, looking at Leo in my arms, lips streaked with blood, shivering in pain, I fought down the urge to smash the bowl of baby food into his face. I raised my voice.

"Sebastian, your son is hurt, and you're still chatting with another woman about Coachella tickets?"

Sebastian finally looked up, startled that I'd dared take that tone with him.

But his brows quickly drew tighter.

"It's just a music festival ticket, Joyce. Why do you always fixate on this? Fine. I got it. I'll take him to the hospital now."

Just then, Vivian's FaceTime call came through.

Sebastian's eyes lit up. He immediately made a "shut up" gesture at me.

I grabbed the car keys off the table to drive Leo to the ER myself. But the next second, Sebastian clamped a hand over mine.

"She wants me to help her pick out her Coachella outfit. Driving to her place takes an hour. I'm leaving first."

He snatched the keys as he spoke.

"Just call an Uber to the hospital yourself. It's like fifteen minutes by car. Same thing."

With that, he grabbed his wallet and jacket and bolted out the door without looking back.

Leo spat up blood in my arms.

Cold lines of AI diagnostic text scrolled across my phone screen, and the last nerve in my head finally snapped.

I turned and looked at the divorce papers already drafted in the drawer.

Five more days until I left.