Chapter 4
Moving back into my own house felt strange.
Like stepping into a life I had died in and been asked to haunt.
The living room still had the indentation from Julian’s recliner.
The kitchen still had his coffee mug beside the sink.
The nursery walls were still painted soft green.
But the cribs were at Natalie’s apartment.
The diapers were stacked in her hallway.
The girls were asleep in borrowed bassinets.
For the first time, the house looked exactly like what it had become.
Empty where help should have been.
Natalie stood beside me.
“We can bring the nursery stuff tomorrow.”
I nodded.
“I want his things out first.”
“Good.”
We packed his clothes into boxes.
Not angrily.
Efficiently.
That almost felt worse.
His shirts.
His fishing jacket.
His running shoes he never used.
A framed photo from our honeymoon in Oregon.
I paused at that one.
Julian and I stood on a cliff, wind whipping my hair across his face.
We looked young.
Stupid with happiness.
I touched the frame.
Natalie came beside me.
“You can keep it.”
“No.”
“You don’t have to erase everything.”
“I’m not erasing.”
I placed it carefully in the box.
“I’m removing it from the wall.”
The next morning, Julian arrived for his supervised visit at the family center.
The girls were fed, changed, and wearing matching yellow outfits Natalie had bought.
I hated that I cared whether they looked nice.
A part of me still wanted Julian to see that I was managing.
As if motherhood had become a courtroom exhibit.
The supervisor, a kind woman named Maria, explained the rules.
One hour.
No conflict.
No blaming.
No photographing without consent.
Julian nodded like a man signing a business contract.
Then he saw Ava and Rose.
His face broke.
“Ava,” he whispered.
He crouched in front of the stroller.
“Rose.”
Rose stared at him suspiciously.
Ava sneezed.
Julian laughed through tears.
I looked away.
I did not want to feel sorry for him.
He reached for Ava, then paused.
“Can I?”
Maria looked at me.
I nodded.
He lifted Ava carefully.
Awkwardly.
Like he had forgotten how small she was.
For the first ten minutes, he was gentle.
Then Rose started crying.
Julian bounced Ava faster.
Rose cried harder.
He looked at me.
“What does she need?”
I kept my hands folded.
“You’re her father. Try.”
His mouth tightened.
But he set Ava down and picked up Rose.
Wrong hold.
Wrong rhythm.
Too stiff.
Rose screamed.
Julian flushed.
“She doesn’t want me.”
“She’s overwhelmed.”
“So what do I do?”
I heard the panic in his voice.
Not anger.
Not resentment.
Fear.
Maria stepped in.
“Slow down. Support her head. Bring her closer. Babies feel tension.”
Julian tried.
Rose kept crying.
Ava joined.
Within minutes, both girls were red-faced and wailing.
Julian looked trapped.
I remembered him saying he came home to crying babies like they were weather.
Now the weather was in his arms.
The visit ended early.
Not because I demanded it.
Because Julian did.
“I can’t,” he said, voice shaking.
Maria wrote that down.
He saw her.
His face changed.
“Wait. No. I mean—”
But the words were already in the room.
I pushed the stroller toward the door.
Julian followed.
“Claire.”
I stopped.
“I didn’t know it was this hard.”
I turned.
“That’s because you never stayed long enough to learn.”
He wiped his face.
“I want to learn.”
I believed that he wanted to want it.
That was not the same thing.
“Then show up.”
He nodded.
“I will.”
May you like
I had heard promises before.
This time, I would only believe patterns.
