Chapter 13: Waiting
The final weeks of the pregnancy passed in a kind of suspended calm.
My parents stayed close without hovering. My mother cooked meals that froze well. My father made sure the car seat was installed correctly and that the hospital bag was packed by the door. We spoke very little about Aaron or his family. There was nothing left to say that mattered.
I walked the neighborhood in the early evenings, moving slowly, one hand supporting the weight of the baby. Neighbors who had seen the earlier tension now offered polite smiles and small talk about the weather. The house no longer felt like a battleground. It simply felt like the place I would bring my child home to.
One night I dreamed of the day Gerald first walked through the door and said, “This will do.” In the dream I handed him the keys without argument. I woke with my heart racing and had to walk through every room turning on lights before the fear subsided.
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The dream did not return.
In its place came a steady, quiet readiness.
