Not because of the baby, but because I felt completely alone.
Jason, meanwhile, was sending photos to our group chat. He and his friends were laughing on a boat. In another, he held a drink with a tiny umbrella, the ocean sparkling behind them.
I stared at the photos while Oliver cried in my arms.
Then I muted the chat.
The second day was worse.
My incision burned every time I moved, and Oliver had what the pediatrician later called a “fussy day.” He cried for hours, refusing to sleep anywhere but on my chest.
By evening, I hadn’t eaten anything except a granola bar.
When my mom finally stopped by after work, she took one look at me and frowned.
“You look exhausted.”
“I’m fine,” I said automatically.
She glanced around the messy living room, the pile of bottles waiting to be washed, and Oliver fussing against my shoulder.
“Where’s Jason?”
“Florida.”
