PART 3: 👇
“And when I got here, I found your wife trying to carry a laundry basket while recovering from surgery because there was nobody else in the house.”
“I was coming home!”
“You came home today.”
“I couldn’t get an earlier flight.”
Richard laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“You weren’t supposed to need an earlier flight.”
Silence.
Trevor clenched his jaw.
“Dad, this is between me and my wife.”
Richard nodded.
“You’re right.”
Then he walked toward the small table beside the couch and picked up his phone.
“That’s why I wasn’t planning to say anything.”
Trevor looked confused.
“But then I saw this.”
Richard turned the phone around.
On the screen was Trevor’s beach photo.
The same one I had seen.
Trevor stretched out beneath the sun.
Drink beside him.
Ocean behind him.
And underneath it:
ONE LAST TASTE OF FREEDOM BEFORE DAD LIFE!
Richard stared at his son.
“Freedom from what, Trevor?”
Trevor’s face reddened.
“It was a joke.”
“Was Grace laughing?”
Trevor looked at me.
I wasn’t.
“Were your children laughing?”
“Dad—”
“Your wife was thirty-seven weeks pregnant with twins.”
“Thirty-six.”
Richard stared at him.
“That correction is what you have to say?”
Trevor looked away.
Then one of the babies began crying.
Our daughter.
Instinctively, I pushed myself up from the couch.
Pain shot through my abdomen.
I gasped.
Before Trevor even moved, Richard raised one hand.
“Sit.”
He walked to the bassinet, gently lifted his granddaughter, and rested her against his shoulder.
Her crying softened almost immediately.
Trevor watched him.
Something about that seemed to bother him more than the argument.
“Give me my daughter.”
Richard looked at him.
“She needs changing.”
“I can do it.”
“Then do it.”
Richard handed her over.
Trevor held his daughter awkwardly.
He looked toward me.
“Where are the diapers?”
I pointed toward the basket beside the changing table.
He opened it.
“Which ones?”
I blinked.
“The newborn ones.”
“Which package is that?”
Richard closed his eyes.
Trevor noticed.
“Oh, come on. I’ve been gone for a few days. I haven’t had time to learn everything.”
Richard opened his eyes again.
“You had nine months.”
Trevor slammed the diaper package onto the table.
“I DIDN’T ASK YOU TO COME HERE!”
The baby startled and began screaming.
My son started crying too.
I immediately reached toward him.
Pain tore through my stomach again.
Richard moved quickly, taking the baby from Trevor.
“That’s enough.”
“No!”
Trevor pulled his daughter closer.
“She’s my child.”
“And that woman on the couch is your wife.”
Richard pointed toward me.
“She was your wife before those babies arrived.”
Trevor’s breathing became heavy.
Then he looked at me.
“You called him here to humiliate me.”
“No.”
“Yes, you did.”
“I called him because I couldn’t shower without someone nearby in case I fell.”
That stopped him.
I continued.
“I called him because I couldn’t lift the car seats.”
His expression changed.
“I called him because the babies needed to eat every two hours, and sometimes they cried at the same time.”
“Grace—”
“I called him because I woke up yesterday and couldn’t stand upright.”
His face drained slightly.
“What?”
“The incision was hurting badly.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
I almost laughed.
“I did.”
“No, you didn’t.”
I reached for my phone.
Trevor watched as I opened our messages.
Then I read aloud.
Friday, 6:12 a.m.: The pain is worse today. Can you please come home sooner?
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