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Hannah:

I’ve got some errands to run before the baby shower tomorrow, so I can pick you up after and we can head home together.

Staring at a message for longer than ten seconds is always a bad sign.

It’s a simple matter of just answering yes, or even a fucking thumbs up. Hannah would be fine with either response since pregnancy stole all her patience.

But staring at it, I feel like such an idiot, like a failure, like⁠—

Hannah deserves better.

Her baby shower is this weekend and I haven’t even bought her anything or thought about my niece or nephew since the last time I saw her on Sunday.

The week has flown by, and of course, I am busy with the boys, but I know it’s more than that, and I think it’s past time I stop lying to myself.

She’s probably been thinking about me nonstop, constantly worried about how my head’s doing, how I’m coping.

I really fucking hate that word.

Before I can think about it any longer, I send back a reply and lock my phone. Throwing it over my back on the bed probably isn’t necessary, and it just goes to show how inefficient it is when it chimes with a text.

I groan and flop back, then onto my belly to reach for it.

But it’s not Hannah getting back to me.

Unknown number:

I know where you ran off to.

I’m coming.

It’s five thirty in the fucking morning.

I should’ve known it was too early for Hannah to be awake. She’s never been a morning person, and as she’s told me multiple times since I came to New York, she’s tired all the time now that her body’s busy creating a whole-ass human.

And this is all a great way to distract myself from the fact that Henry’s probably on his fifth number this month. He’s going to keep buying them and I’m going to keep blocking them.

I should change my number, but that would mean I’d have to tell Hannah—and god forbid, Tucker—the reason why, and that’s just not happening.

There’s no use in thinking about it anymore.

So I block him on autopilot, and try not to picture how he’s probably going through his morning routine and getting ready for a day full of pretending he’s a good human being.

Putting it out of my mind, I focus on work, and I don’t let a single thought that’s not focused on my current reality push through.

I have breakfast with the boys—all the boys—and then after dropping the twins off, I beg Johnny to drive me around so I can go buy Hannah something emotionally relevant for her baby shower on top of ordering the diaper dispenser that looks like a spaceship, which thanks to the boys, I can afford.

By the time dinner is over, Mason and Maddox’s faces are covered in the most delicious eggplant sauce I’ve ever tasted, and Tucker is ushering them upstairs for their bath. I feel like I might actually fall face first into my plate and just sleep right here in the kitchen.

Tucker has other ideas, though.

“Be back in ten,” he says right before he disappears behind the kitchen door.

That seems ambitious, I think, but since the boys are always seriously tired after swimming lessons and a day full of testing my endurance, I think he might actually make it back down in time.

I’m going to need a lot more strength when he does come back, so I better get it over with now.

I manage not to groan as I stand.