Three Baby Cribs and a Missing Set of Car Keys
“There is plenty in the joint account,” he said.
He leaned down, kissed the top of Luna’s forehead, and walked toward the front hallway.
At seven, the kitchen was quiet. I stood at the basin, scrubbing the plastic threads of the bottle caps with a yellow brush. My fingers were pruned and smelled of dish soap.
I reached for the hand towel and saw my gold wedding ring sitting on the window sill. I had taken it off to wash the bottles, just like I did every night.
I picked up the ring. It felt light, almost hollow, in the palm of my hand.
On the kitchen desk sat a thick blue folder the hospital had given us when the triplets were discharged. It held their birth certificates and the immunization records. I opened the cardboard cover, slid the gold band into the front pocket, and pressed the folder shut.
In the nursery, Bodhi began to cry, his high, thin wail instantly waking Soleil. I walked into the dark room, my feet heavy on the rug. I lifted Bodhi first, rocking him against my shoulder while using my foot to nudge Soleil’s crib.
The hum of the baby monitor on the dresser was the only constant sound in the house.
I held my breath, listening for any sign of a car returning, any indication that Ryan had changed his mind. I had always believed he would eventually step up as a partner, that the weight of three babies would make him see what I needed.
The silence in the rest of the house was absolute.
I carried Bodhi to the front window, parting the white curtains with my elbow.
The red taillights of Ryan’s SUV glowed in the dark driveway.
The sound of his tires crunching on the gravel driveway as he drove away.
