“Then we need to arrange help for me.”

“Why?”

“Because I cannot care for three infants alone for five days.”

“You do it every day.”

“And I need help every day.”

Ryan became irritated.

“I work and pay the bills. I deserve a break.”

“What about me?”

He laughed.

“Have you earned a vacation?”

The kitchen became completely silent.

I could barely believe what I had heard.

“I take care of three babies every day and every night.”

“You don’t work.”

“I left my job because we agreed I would stay home.”

“And I’m the one paying for everything.”

“I nearly died giving birth to them.”

“I know.”

“No. You know it happened. You don’t behave as though it mattered.”

Ryan picked up his phone.

“I’m going, Shannon. You haven’t earned a break, and I’m not arguing anymore.”

For months, I had wondered how to make him understand how exhausted and alone I felt.

That afternoon, I finally understood.

He already knew.

He simply did not care enough to help.

The next morning, his friends arrived, honking from the driveway.

Ryan held Luna long enough to take a photograph, then handed her back before she could wrinkle his shirt.

“Try not to make me feel guilty while I’m gone,” he joked.

“I don’t have enough energy to make you feel anything.”

He kissed Luna’s head, collected his suitcase, and left for the beach.

PART 2: THE CALL THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING

The following morning, I prepared to take the babies to their six-month medical checkup.

After struggling to dress them, pack the diaper bag, and secure all three carriers, I reached for the car keys.

The hook was empty.

I searched the kitchen, my purse, and every drawer.

Both sets were gone, even though Ryan’s friends had collected him.

I called him.