Bad Marriage
Chapter One
Abby
The baby was crying.
Again.
Groaning, she tossed the covers back, pushed herself out of bed, and blearily stood up.
Then promptly tripped over some sort of Lego creation and fell to the carpet.
“Abbs?” came Jordan’s groggy voice. “I’ll bring Emma to you.”
“I’m okay. Go back to sleep,” she said, knowing he would do so, and immediately at that. It was almost annoying how quickly the man could slip into unconsciousness.
And he needed it.
Emma had decided it was her tiny six-week-old’s task to ensure the entire household was running on fumes—of the energy sense.
Or perhaps the diaper fumes sense.
Snort.
Rolling her eyes at herself, Abby pushed up to her feet, Emma’s cries growing in volume with each second that passed. She stepped over Carter’s rendition of a Duplo house this time, snagged her robe from the chair by the door, and slipped out into the hall, still somewhat in awe of how dramatically her life had changed in just a few years.
She had a daughter.
And two sons.
She finally had a family after she’d always felt so lost about her place in the world.
She wouldn’t say that her identity was solely based on being a wife and mother, but it had given her the confidence to live out her dreams.
So she could add boss, businesswoman, and partner to her list of attributes.
Along with sleep-deprived.
Pushing into Emma’s bedroom, she saw that her daughter was red-faced and squalling—well, she’d heard that last part already, but now she could see the squished-up unhappiness of her expression.
“Oh, baby,” she murmured, sweeping over and scooping her up. “I’ve got you.”
The swaddle had come loose, and since Emma’s diaper felt full, Abby took her to the changing table and completed the dirty end—literally—of the business. Then re-swaddled her and sat down in the rocker.
Emma had quieted, as she always did once she was picked up, though it was punctuated by tiny cries that told Abby her daughter was hungry. She unsnapped her nightgown and lifted Emma to her breast, rocking her softly and humming a nursery rhyme she didn’t know all the words to. Which was okay. Her daughter seemed to like the melody even without the words.
Eventually, Emma finished and lay drowsily in Abby’s arms while she tried to summon the energy to cover herself and begin the careful task of setting the baby in the crib without waking her.
Maybe arduous was more like it.
“Here, sweetheart.” The soft words had her looking up at her husband, Jordan, who was wearing just a pair of boxer briefs and looking all too much like Thor when she was feeling very blah and stretched out and saggy. He slipped her nightgown back up, buckling the snap with practiced hands. Then he lifted Emma out of her arms.
“I told you to sleep.”
“And I told you I’d bring the baby to you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You’re exhausted.”
“You’ve got a membership to that club yourself.”