Chapter 2 - THE EMPTY CRIB AND THE NOTE THAT DESTROYED HIS RETREAT ILLUSION
Eric’s frantic scream echoed off the apartment walls, startling one of the babies into a sharp cry. He stumbled backward, his hands flying to his head as if trying to physically block out the reality before him.
"Where are they? Where are the cribs? Where is the nursery?" he stammered, his voice cracking with a hysterical edge that had nothing to do with exhaustion and everything to do with shattered expectations.
I stood by the kitchen island, holding a lukewarm bottle of formula. My hair was pulled back in a messy bun, wearing a faded, stain-covered nursing top. I didn't rush to comfort him. I didn't offer a gentle smile. I simply stared at him with a chilling, deadpan calm that unnerved him instantly.
"Looking for our children, Eric?" I asked, my voice dangerously steady.
"Yes! Where are they? Why is the second bedroom completely empty?" he demanded, pointing a trembling, manicured finger down the hall. "Did you send them to your mother's? Why didn't you text me? Do you have any idea how much anxiety you're causing me right after I landed?"
The sheer narcissism of his statement made my blood boil. Anxiety? He had spent fourteen days sipping margaritas by a resort pool while I had hallucinations from sleep deprivation, changing twelve diapers an hour and crying into my pillow.
"They aren't at my mother's, Eric," I replied quietly, walking slowly toward him. "And you didn't want any anxiety, remember? You told me before you boarded your flight to Cabo that your mental health couldn't handle the stress of our family. So, I accommodated you."
"Accommodated me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he yelled, stepping further into the living room, his vacation glow rapidly turning into a sickly, pale hue.
I reached down to the coffee table and picked up a heavy, thick legal envelope. I tossed it onto the glass surface right in front of him. It landed with a dull, heavy thud that sounded like a gavel falling in a courtroom.
"It means that while you were living your best life south of the border, I had an epiphany," I said, leaning against the back of the couch. "Raising triplets requires a true partner. It requires a man who doesn't abandon his postpartum wife and newborn babies to go party with his buddies. Since you made it abundantly clear that you are not that man, I made sure you wouldn't have to stress about it ever again."
Eric’s eyes darted between me and the heavy envelope. His fingers shook violently as he reached down, tore open the flap, and pulled out a stack of crisp, legally binding documents. He flipped to the signature page, his eyes scanning the bold headers.
"Divorce papers?" he gasped, his voice dropping to a breathless whisper. "You filed for divorce? While I was away?!"
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"Not just divorce, Eric," I smiled, a cold, humorless expression that didn't reach my eyes. "Full custody, child support calculated on your actual executive salary, and a restraining order that prevents you from stepping foot near our children until a family court judge determines you are actually fit to be a father. As for the nursery... I packed up all their belongings, sold your precious golf clubs to help cover the initial lawyer retainer, and moved into a secure, gated townhouse near Chloe."
Eric stared at the papers, his knees buckling slightly as the full weight of his catastrophic miscalculation crashed down on him.
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