PART 1: THE BREAK I HADN’T “EARNED”

After five years of fertility treatments, I finally became pregnant with triplets.

When the doctor found the third heartbeat, my husband, Ryan, cried beside me. He kept repeating that he could not believe we were going to have three babies.

When Luna, Soleil, and Bodhi were born, they were tiny, noisy, and perfect.

The delivery was difficult, and my recovery was even harder. But once we returned home, nearly every responsibility became mine.

I handled the feedings, bottles, diapers, laundry, cooking, cleaning, and sleepless nights. Ryan went back to work and acted as though earning a paycheck had completed his part of parenting.

One night, I sat on the bathroom floor eating half a granola bar while my hands shook from exhaustion.

Luna was crying. Soleil had just fallen asleep. Bodhi had soaked through another outfit.

I needed one quiet minute.

Ryan appeared in the doorway.

“Can you make them stop crying?” he asked. “I have an early meeting.”

“There are three babies and only one of me,” I replied. “Please help.”

He sighed.

“I work all day, Shannon.”

“So do I.”

“You stay home.”

I stared at him.

“What do you think I do here?”

“You’re a stay-at-home mother. The house and babies are your responsibility.”

“They’re your children too.”

Ryan looked toward the nursery but made no move to enter.

“I need sleep.”

“So do I.”

“It’s different. You don’t have to go to an office.”

Then he walked away.

Two days later, Ryan entered the kitchen smiling at his phone.

“Ian found a rental beside the beach,” he announced.

“What rental?”

“For our trip. Ian, Jason, and me. Five days. We leave tomorrow.”

That was when I noticed his suitcase near the front door.

“You booked a five-day vacation without asking me?”

“Jason arranged it weeks ago.”

“Weeks ago?”

Ryan shrugged as though it were unimportant.

I looked toward the living room, where all three babies needed attention.