Chapter 3 - The Vacation He Said He Deserved
By the second week, I stopped measuring time in days.
I measured it in feedings.
Twelve midnight.
Three in the morning.
Six.
Nine.
Then back again.
The schedule never really worked because Nell would become hungry early, Amos would refuse half his bottle, and Vera needed to remain upright after eating.
Some nights, I finished feeding the third baby just as the first woke up again.
My world shrank to three bassinets and the distance between our kitchen and nursery.
Gareth continued sleeping in the guest room.
Every morning, he appeared freshly showered and dressed for work.
I hated how much I noticed that.
His hair was clean.
His shirt was pressed.
He smelled like expensive cologne.
Meanwhile, I sometimes realized at noon that I had forgotten to brush my teeth.
One morning Gareth walked into the nursery carrying coffee.
“I changed Vera before work.”
He sounded proud.
I looked at the clock.
It was 7:12.
I had been awake since 1:40.
“That’s good.”
“You could sound a little more grateful.”
I stared at him.
“Grateful?”
“I’m helping.”
I almost laughed.
Instead, I picked up a bottle.
“I changed fourteen diapers last night.”
Gareth frowned.
“Do we really need to compare?”
“No.”
I looked directly at him.
“We need to share.”
“I work ten hours a day.”
“So do I.”
“You’re at home.”
I glanced toward the bassinets.
“So are the babies.”
He shook his head.
“You’re impossible when you’re tired.”
I wanted to tell him that I was always tired.
Instead, I fed Amos.
Because Amos needed me more than I needed to win an argument.
That became my pattern.
I swallowed frustration because there was always a baby to feed.
I postponed conversations because somebody was crying.
I accepted explanations because fighting required energy I did not have.
Worst of all, I protected Gareth.
His mother called one afternoon.
“How is my son doing with those night feedings?”
I looked toward the closed guest-room door.
“He’s working a lot.”
“That man always worked too hard.”
“Yes.”
“And you?”
“We’re adjusting.”
My sister called the next day.
“Is Gareth helping?”
“Work is stressful.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
I watched Nell sleep.
“He helps when he can.”
My sister went silent.
“You sound exhausted.”
“I’m fine.”
“Maribel.”
“I said I’m fine.”
That night, I cried quietly in the shower.
Not because Gareth had done something dramatic.
That would almost have been easier.
There was no single terrible event.
Only hundreds of tiny abandonments.
A bottle he left beside the sink because he assumed I would wash it.
A diaper he stepped over.
A baby he handed back because she “wanted Mom.”
A dinner he ate while mine became cold.
A shower he took without asking whether I had been able to take one.
At five weeks postpartum, I missed a medical follow-up because Gareth said he could not leave work early.
My incision had become red from carrying too much weight.
The nurse on the phone sounded concerned.
“You need somebody to help you.”
I looked into the nursery.
“I know.”
“Can your husband take tomorrow off?”
“I’ll ask.”
I never asked.
I already knew the answer.
Then the babies turned six weeks old.
That morning, Gareth walked into the kitchen holding several sheets of paper.
I was rinsing bottles.
Vera was strapped against my chest.
Nell was asleep nearby.
Amos was starting to stir.
“I booked something,” Gareth said.
My heart actually lifted.
For one ridiculous second, I thought he had finally noticed.
Maybe his mother was coming.
Maybe he had hired help.
Maybe he had arranged a hotel room so I could sleep.
“What?”
He placed the papers beside the bottle rack.
A photograph showed white sand, palm trees, and bright blue water.
I stared at it.
“What is this?”
“Aruba.”
I checked the dates.
Fourteen nights.
Then I looked at Gareth.
“Are we going somewhere?”
He hesitated.
“I’m going.”
The bottle slipped slightly in my wet hand.
“What?”
“I need a break.”
Vera fussed against my chest.
“A break from what?”
“Everything.”
“Everything?”
“Work. The crying. This house.”
I stared at him.
“This house contains your children.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No.”
I turned off the water.
“Explain it.”
Gareth exhaled.
“I’m exhausted.”
That was when I laughed.
A small, empty sound.
“You sleep eight hours every night.”
“I’m mentally exhausted.”
“I haven’t slept longer than forty-five minutes at a time in six weeks.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
His answer changed our marriage.
“You’re the mother. This is your natural role.”
I could hear Amos beginning to cry.
Vera squirmed against me.
Yet the entire kitchen felt completely still.
“My natural role?”
“Don’t twist it.”
“I had major surgery.”
“I know.”
“My incision still hurts.”
“I know.”
“I’m feeding and caring for three premature infants.”
“I know.”
“And you’re flying to Aruba?”
“It’s already booked.”
“Cancel it.”
His expression hardened.
“No.”
I stared at him.
“No?”
“I deserve this trip.”
“And what do I deserve?”
He said nothing.
“Tell me, Gareth.”
“You’re being emotional.”
“My husband just announced he’s leaving me alone with three six-week-old babies for fourteen days.”
“Your hormones are still everywhere.”
Something inside me changed.
Not loudly.
Quietly.
Almost peacefully.
I had spent six weeks trying to convince Gareth that I needed help.
Now I finally understood.
He knew.
He simply believed his comfort mattered more.
That night, after the babies settled, I borrowed Gareth’s tablet because my phone battery had died.
I needed to order formula.
Before I reached the shopping app, a message appeared.
Colby.
Flights confirmed. Jensen and I will meet you at the resort Friday. First round is on you, Super Dad.
I read it twice.
When Gareth entered the room, I held up the tablet.
“So it isn’t a quiet trip.”
His face changed.
“What?”
“Colby and Jensen.”
He reached for the tablet.
I pulled it back.
“They’re only coming for part of it.”
“What did you tell them?”
“Nothing.”
“Why did Colby call you Super Dad?”
Gareth looked away.
“Gareth.”
“They think your sister is staying here.”
I felt cold.
“My sister lives nine hours away.”
“I know.”
“Then why would you tell them that?”
He became defensive.
“I didn’t want them thinking I was abandoning you.”
The words settled between us.
I whispered, “So you know.”
“Know what?”
“You know exactly what you’re doing.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“You lied because the truth made you look bad.”
“They wouldn’t understand.”
“They understand perfectly.”
“No, they don’t.”
“Yes, Gareth.”
My voice shook.
“That’s why you lied.”
I handed him the tablet.
For years, I had protected my husband’s image.
That night, I stopped.
After Gareth fell asleep, I entered the guest room.
His suitcase stood open on the bed.
Neatly packed.
Swim trunks.
Linen shirts.
Sandals.
Sunscreen.
A ridiculous straw hat Colby had convinced him to buy.
I stood over it for a long time.
Then I quietly closed the door behind me.
I did not destroy anything.
I did not steal anything.
I did not scream.
I simply removed almost everything.
Then I replaced it with fourteen clear bags.
One for each day of his vacation.
Each bag contained a symbolic sample of the work he believed belonged naturally to me.
Diapers.
Burp cloths.
Baby clothes.
Feeding instructions.
Bottle-cleaning directions.
A list of night feedings.
Disposable breast pads.
Scar cream.
At the bottom, I placed his navy shirt.
TRIPLE-DUTY DAD.
I pinned a letter to it.
Then I zipped the suitcase.
Twenty minutes.
That was all it took.
The next morning, Gareth rolled it toward the door without looking inside.
He kissed my cheek.
“Try not to stay angry the whole time.”
I held Amos against my shoulder.
“I’m not angry.”
“Good.”
“I’m done protecting you.”
He frowned.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
But his rideshare had arrived.
He looked at his watch.
“We’ll talk when I get back.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“We’ll talk when you finally understand what you left behind.”
He gave me an irritated sigh.
Then he walked out.
The door closed.
Three babies remained.
One mother.
And for the first time since their birth, no illusion that anyone was coming to rescue me.
At 4:17 that afternoon, my phone rang.
I answered on speaker while feeding Nell.
Gareth’s voice exploded through the room.
“MARIBEL!”
I closed my eyes.
“You really did this to me?!”
Behind him, I heard Jensen.
Then Colby.
Then silence.
Finally Jensen whispered,
“Gareth… what is this?”
I looked down at my daughter.
May you like
And for the first time in six weeks, I smiled.
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