I let out a quiet breath, glancing over at Ray, who’s still glued to his phone.
He feels us looking and finally glances up. “Sorry?”
“I have no idea,” I admit, turning back to her. “I haven’t even had a chance to think about it.”
But Stacie isn’t looking at me anymore. Her attention has shifted.
To him.
“What sort of things are you looking for today?” she asks again, her tone subtly different.
Ray slips his phone into his pocket, stepping forward like he’s finally decided to engage. “Right, of course. Erm . . .” His eyes scan the room. “Everything. Let’s just get it all.”
Her brows lift slightly. “Of course. Shall we start with the pushchair?”
She turns, leading the way, and Ray follows without hesitation—already asking about car seats, safety ratings, age ranges.
By the time I catch up, he’s deep into it. Statistics. Specifications. All things I didn’t know I had to research.
I hover a step behind them, my hand resting on my stomach. And I feel invisible. Like this baby is his and I’m just here for the ride. I slow as I reach them, lingering just behind Ray’s shoulder. He’s already in full flow.
“I’ve read that the suspension makes a difference if you’re using it on uneven ground,” he says, gesturing towards one of the pushchairs. “And I want something lightweight but still sturdy. Easy to fold, but not flimsy. Safety is the priority.”
Stacie nods eagerly. “Of course. This model here—”
“And the car seat needs to be compatible,” he adds, stepping closer. “ISOFIX base. High safety rating. I saw this brand scored well in independent testing.”
I blink at him. He’s done research. Every detail, every feature. Looked at, scrutinised, all without me.
Stacie smiles, clearly impressed. “You’ve really done your homework.”
Ray shrugs casually. “I like to be prepared.”
I shift my weight, my hand drifting to my bump, but neither of them look my way. They don’t need to.They’ve got this handled.
Stacie glances between the pushchair and Ray, her smile softening. “It’s lovely to see. Are you excited about becoming a dad?”
Something in my chest tightens. I wait expectantly, because if he was going to include me in conversation, now would be the perfect time.
“I already am one,” he says easily, “so I know what I’m doing.”
Stacie lets out a small laugh. “Ah, of course. That makes it easier the second time around.”
“Yeah,” he replies, nodding as he checks the frame. “You know exactly what you’ll use, what’s worth the money and what isn’t.”
I don’t know any of that stuff. What I’ll need. What I’ll buy on a whim because it’s on the shelf. I haven’t researched pushchairs. I haven’t even worked out how to hold a newborn correctly.
I take a step back, but neither of them notice. Stacie is already pointing out another model, talking about wheels and storage and convenience, and Ray follows without hesitation, asking questions, making decisions.
I take another step back.
Then another.
And still, there’s nothing. No glance over his shoulder. No ’what do you think’. No ’are you okay’.Just them, talking and planning. Deciding what will work best for my baby.
My hand presses lightly to my stomach as something tight builds in my chest.
I don’t belong here.