Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 69398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
If I were to find out those boys weren’t mine, and Isla had cheated ... I don’t think I could ever look at her again.
It would crush me in a way I probably couldn’t come back from.
Lucky for me, it isn’t true.
Right?
“PUSH!”
The doctor stands at the end of the bed as Isla pushes, her face red, her screams filling the room.
She has been having contractions for hours, and she’s finally ready to deliver our baby into the world. I stand beside her, hand being crushed but not complaining and keep my eyes on the end of the bed where the doctor is crouched, preparing for the arrival of our son.
One more decent push later, and they smile and tell us it’s a boy.
Then, his little scream fills the room.
His tiny voice ripping out into the world, letting us all know he’s here and he’s not going anywhere.
They wrap him and put him on Isla’s chest, and I can see the tuft of white blond hair on his head. His skin, even as a newborn, is soft and olive. He stops crying the moment he hits Isla’s chest, and I reach down, fighting some incredible emotion, and touch his tiny hand. “Welcome to the world, little man.”
“He’s so beautiful,” Isla says, her voice tired as she looks at our newborn son.
“He’s perfect.”
“What should we name him? I promised to let you have this one,” she croaks.
“Taj,” I murmur, stroking his chubby little cheek.
“Taj,” she whispers. “I love it.”
I stay with her and relish in the moments of having our son, and things feeling semi-okay.
They stay that way until we take him home and reality sets in.
We have a demanding two-year-old, a newborn, and Isla is tired and angry. I find myself running around, getting up for feeds and trying to keep the house a sane place, but with every passing second, I feel like I’m drowning a little more.
“Oh, Sunny, stop!” Isla cries two days after we arrive home.
Sunny is slamming a toy, over and over, making it sing. He loves that toy, but when you’ve had no sleep, and you’re tired, that toy is a fucking nightmare.
“Sunny, buddy, let’s go to the beach.”
“Can’t you take Taj, too?” Isla says, from her spot on the sofa, Taj on her chest.
“He’s a newborn, Isla. I’m not taking him out into the sun and the wind.”
“Put him in the carrier and put a blanket over him. I’m tired, Bohdi. You have no idea.”
Considering I was the one who got up all of last night, while she slept, I’d say that I do have some idea. I’m tired, too, but we made the baby together and we take care of him together. I’m not taking him to the beach on a hot day. I know, from experience with Sunny, that he’ll have a hell of a night if I do that.
“I’m not taking him out into that blistering sun. He’s sleeping, Isla, sleep with him.”
“Every time I close my eyes, he wakes up wanting a feed.”
“Then lay back, let him feed, and both of you rest together. He’s a good baby, he rarely cries. I’m doing my best here, but I can’t do it all. I’ll take Sunny out so you can sleep, but I can’t take both. He’s too little and he’s happy.”
“You’re a horrible husband,” she growls.
I shake my head. I’m not going to argue with her.
“Come on, buddy,” I say, taking Sunny and grabbing his hat before disappearing out the front door.
We enjoy the beach for a few hours until Sunny gets tired, and I bring him home and put him to bed. When I get in, Isla is in the same spot on the sofa, sleeping, and Taj is lying on her chest, head to the side, little eyes open as he stares around. He’s a good baby, he really is.
He only cries if he’s hungry.
I go over and lift him from her arms, bringing his soft little face to my lips and kissing his cheek. “Hey, buddy, you’re a good one, aren’t you?”
He squeaks, and I keep him in my arms as I prepare some lunch.
Isla stays asleep until his next feed.
When she wakes up, she’s angrier than she was before, and insists she needs to go out and get some fresh air.
I let her, because I know how I get if I’m cramped up inside the house too long.
When she doesn’t come back for an entire fucking night, and I have to feed Taj formula, I don’t take it so well.
The screaming match begins as soon as she gets in the door, and by the time it’s done, I’m exhausted.
Utterly fucking exhausted.
It’s going to be a long fucking life.
And I’m done with it already.
I am praying for something to change.
Little do I know, it’s about to.
19
NOW – MERLEIGH
“This isn’t where I asked you to take me,” I say, my voice shaky as the truck driver goes right past my town and keeps driving.