I convinced myself Sylvia simply didn’t know how to offer comfort to anyone who wasn’t her son.
So I chose not to fight that battle.
Years later, I would understand the mistake.
Avoiding conflict does not mean conflict disappears.
Sometimes it only means the problem remains hidden long enough to grow.
Then June arrived.
Seven pounds, four ounces, Ethan’s nose, and enough personality for the entire hospital floor.
Ethan cried when they placed her in his arms.
Really cried.
He whispered her name while looking down at her as though nothing else in the world existed.
That moment was real.
I would remember that later.
For the first six weeks, he was the father I believed he would be.
He changed diapers without being asked.
He got up at night.
He learned to swaddle June with the intense concentration he usually reserved for technical problems.
He wanted to be competent.
And he was.
Around week seven, his company entered a major product launch.
His hours became longer.
He came home drained.
I understood.
I had spent years coming home after impossible shifts with almost nothing left.
But the difference between us slowly became obvious.
When I came home exhausted, June still needed to be fed.
Laundry still existed.
Mom still needed medication organized.
Life continued whether I had energy or not.
