The TV was on low. Ade sat on the rug in his footie pajamas, banging a plastic ring against the floor, wide awake and nowhere near sleep. It was 10:14 p.m.
Sabine rubbed her temples, trying not to cry. Again.She used to have plans—jobs lined up, hobbies, but nothing fit their schedule, and no one wanted to hire a woman who couldn’t promise full availability. So, she stayed home. Nursed. Changed diapers. Tried to be grateful.
She was grateful. Just not happy.
Her phone buzzed on the counter.
Adair:“Finishing up soon. Another hour maybe.”
Sabine stared at the screen like it had cursed her out. She closed her eyes and breathed once, long and hard through her nose.
Another hour.
Another fuckin’ hour.
Slow but it finally came.
The lock clicked at 11:05.
Adair stepped inside, loosening his tie, voice low like he expected peace. “Why is he still up?” he asked, glancing at their baby crawling toward the door like he’d been waiting on him.
Sabine didn’t speak at first. Just stood in the archway with her arms crossed under her chest, small baby bump already forming, hair falling loose from a bun that used to look cute.
Adair blinked at her. “Bine?”
“You walk in this house and the first thing you ask me is why your son is awake?” Her voice didn’t rise. Not yet but it trembled.
“I wasn’t—” He took a step forward, then hesitated. “I just meant…is he okay? Why’s he?—?”
“Because I’m tired, Adair!” The words burst out, raw and bleeding. “Because I’ve been trying to rock him, nurse him, read to him, fuckingsingto him for three hours while my back feels like it’s going to snap in half and my ankles are damn near fused together!”
Adair’s brows knit. “I didn’t mean it like?—”
“And I’m pregnant! Again! In case you forgot,” she added, gesturing wildly at her belly. “Pregnant. Tired. Alone. Every goddamn night you’re at that office, and I’m here. I can’t even tell when your day ends or if I even factor into it anymore!”
Ade blinked up at both of them now, tiny hand gripping his father’s pant leg.
Adair stepped forward, voice dropping. “Lower your voice. He’s watching.”
That’s when it happened.
The baby bottle from the counter.
The teether.
The balled-up burp cloth.
One by one, they flew.
“Fuck you,” she hissed, throwing the bottle across the room. It thudded against the door and rolled.
“Sabine—”
“I hate this! I hate this place! I hate that I gave up everything and now I don’t even recognize myself. I feel like a fuckin’ shadow. A maid. A wet nurse!”
Ade whimpered and she froze. Her eyes finally landing on their son—on the tears starting to pool, his lip quivering.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, kneeling to him, arms wrapping around his small body. “I’m sorry, baby. Mommy didn’t mean to yell.”