“We’re ready. Yes. Absolutely. Let’s get things moving!”
We brought Ellie home the next morning. She was wrapped in a clean hospital blanket, her face rosy and soft, and her fingers instinctively curled around mine.
‘She’s so tiny,’ I whispered.
‘She’s perfect,’ said Rick, looking at her as though he’d been waiting his whole life to hold her in his arms.
That night, he rocked her gently whilst I sat on the floor of the nursery, watching them, my heart wide open.
“This is what we’re supposed to feel,” I said.
“She’s our miracle,” said my husband, his eyes shining.
But the peace didn’t last.
Within three days, I sensed something changing – subtly at first, like a light bulb flickering in the corner of my eye. Rick became quiet in a way that didn’t feel like tiredness or being overwhelmed.
I had the feeling he was hiding something from me.
Rick started taking phone calls in the garden, pacing near the fence, one hand clenched around his phone and the other tangled in his hair. He would lower his voice when I got too close.
‘It’s just for work, Shelby,’ he’d say, even though I hadn’t asked.
At first, I didn’t pay it any mind. After all, we were both still settling in. Ellie hardly slept for more than two hours at a stretch, and I wasn’t exactly a model of calm myself. But when I spoke of her, of her scent of milk and lavender, and of her eyes that sometimes seemed to be searching for something that wasn’t there in the room, Rick barely reacted.
“I’m obsessed with that little yawn she makes, darling,” I said one morning whilst washing bottles. “It’s as if she’s surprised by how tired she is.”
He looked up from his coffee and his plate of eggs and toast and nodded once.
“Yes, she’s cute, Shel,” he said before slipping back outside with his phone.
The distance between us was growing, and I couldn’t bridge it.
Then, one evening, I walked past the nursery and heard his voice from the living room. It was low and tense.
‘Listen,’ he said. ‘I can’t let Shelby find out. I’m scared… I think we should give the baby back. We can say it’s not working out. That we’re struggling to bond with each other. Just… something.’
My heart crashed against my ribs.
I took a step into the room before I could stop myself.
“Give him back?” My voice was high-pitched and trembling. “Rick, what are you talking about? Why would we give our baby back?!’
My husband froze, eyes wide, the phone still pressed to his ear. For a long second, he didn’t speak. Then he ended the call and turned to me with a shaky smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
‘You must have misunderstood, Shelby,’ he said too quickly. “I meant to return the trousers I bought. You know what? You’re exhausted, darling. You need to rest. Go on.”
“Rick,” I said, my voice cracking. “I heard exactly what you said. You said to return the baby! Who on earth talks like that?”
“It’s nothing,” he said, sighing and running his hand over his face. “It’s the stress. I didn’t mean anything like that.”
‘So, instead of telling me how you feel, you’re talking to someone else? And you’re trying to explain things to me by convincing me that I’m exhausted and that you wanted to return… the trousers? Rick, who are you?’
“I’m stressed,” he simply repeated.
“You said giving Ellie back as if it were a viable option.”
“Shelby, please,” he said. “Let it go.”
But I couldn’t.
For two days, I asked. First gently, then directly.
“Tell me what’s going on, Rick,” I said. “Is it about the adoption? Do you have doubts about our baby? Or about being a father?”
He shuts me down every time.
“You’re imagining things,” he said. “It’s not what you think. Give me some space.”
I tried, but he didn’t answer me; he didn’t help me understand. Instead, he barely touched me. And he barely looked at Ellie.
And when he did, his hands were shaking.
On the third day, I couldn’t take it any more. I drove to my mother-in-law’s house, gripping the steering wheel as if it could anchor me to something.
When she opened the door, her expression softened the moment she saw me.
“Darling,” she said.
“Hello, Gina,” I whispered. “Can we talk?”
We sat down at her kitchen table, the smell of coffee filling the silence between us. Gina had always been warm towards me. She was the sort of woman who remembered birthdays and gave hugs that lasted just a little longer than necessary.
But now her hands were frozen around her cup, her eyes fixed on the surface as if she were afraid of what might emerge from it.
I told her everything.
About that phone call, about Rick’s distance, and the way he barely looked at Ellie now. I didn’t rush. I let it all come out slowly, because I needed Gina to feel the weight of the truth.
When I’d finished, she exhaled heavily, pressing her fingers to her temple.