He shared photos online. He accepted congratulations from coworkers with a wide smile. He called Margaret incredible. He held her hand in the hospital and told her she had done something amazing.
She believed him completely.
But within three weeks of returning home, everything began to shift.
The chaos of caring for three newborns at once is something that defies description. Margaret was drowning in a way she had never experienced. She was surviving on almost no sleep, her body still healing from delivery, her days a continuous blur of feeding and soothing and worrying and starting all over again.
She wore the same two pairs of soft, loose pants because nothing else fit her changing body. Her hair stayed in a loose bun because there simply was no time for anything else. Eating a full meal was a luxury she rarely managed.
One morning, she was sitting on the couch nursing Oliver when Daniel walked into the room.
He was dressed for work. His shirt was perfectly pressed. His hair was neatly styled. He smelled of the expensive cologne she had once loved.
He stopped in the doorway and looked at her. Not with warmth. Not with concern. But with something that landed like a cold stone.
“You really look like a scarecrow,” he said.
Margaret stared at him, certain she had misheard.
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