Chapter 2 - The Return Home
We brought Sadie home on a cold Thursday afternoon.
Our two-bedroom bungalow in suburban Columbus was quiet when we walked through the front door. The house smelled of clean cedar wood, lavender laundry detergent, and the faint, sweet scent of the nursery we had spent three months decorating.
Caleb carried the infant car seat into the living room, setting it down on the coffee table with extreme, almost humorous care.
"We made it," he said, letting out a long breath and wiping his forehead. "We're actually home."
I set my hospital bag down near the entryway, moving slowly. Walking felt strange—my center of gravity had completely shifted, leaving my hips feeling loose and unstable, as if my joints were held together by wet string.
"I'll take her up to the nursery," I said, reaching for the car seat handle.
"No, no, sit down," Caleb urged gently, taking my shoulder and guiding me toward the sofa. "The doctor said you need to stay off your feet for at least three days. You do the feeding; I'll do the heavy lifting."
I sat down on the cushions. The simple act of bending my knees caused a sharp ache across my lower abdomen.
Before Caleb could unbuckle Sadie from the harness, the doorbell rang.
Caleb opened the door.
Marjorie stood on the porch, holding a massive casserole dish wrapped in foil, flanked by Caleb’s father, Arthur, and Brianna.
"We brought dinner!" Marjorie announced, stepping straight past Caleb into the foyer. "And we brought extra freezer meals for the week!"
Arthur walked in behind her, taking off his heavy woolen cap. "How’s my little granddaughter doing?"
I swallowed hard, pulling my cardigan tightly over my loose, soft belly. "Hi, guys. Come in."
Marjorie set the casserole dish on the dining table and hurried over to the coffee table, dropping to her knees beside the car seat.
"Oh, look at her," Marjorie whispered, her eyes shining with tears. "Look at those little fingers."
Brianna unbuttoned her coat and took out her phone. "Did she cry on the drive home?"
"Not once," Caleb boasted proudly, leaning against the back of the sofa. "Slept the whole twenty minutes. She’s tough."
"Just like her dad," Arthur chuckled, clapping Caleb on the shoulder. "Caleb didn't cry on his drive home from the hospital thirty years ago either. Just stared out the window like he was inspecting the traffic."
Everyone laughed.
Marjorie gently unbuckled the harness and lifted Sadie into her arms. She cradled the baby against her chest, swaying back and forth in the middle of our living room.
"Look at that profile, Artie," Marjorie called to her husband. "Look at her chin. Have you ever seen anything like it? It’s a carbon copy of Caleb’s baby pictures."
Arthur walked over, leaning over his wife's shoulder. "Yep. That’s a Warren, alright. No doubt about that paternity."
He laughed—a booming, jovial laugh meant as a harmless joke.
I felt a cold sensation in my throat, like swallowing ice water.
"I'm going to head upstairs to change," I said quietly, standing up from the sofa.
Nobody heard me.
Brianna was taking a video of Marjorie holding Sadie. Caleb was showing his father the smart-monitor system he had installed in the nursery.
I walked up the carpeted stairs slowly, holding onto the handrail with both hands.
Inside our bedroom, the room was quiet. I walked into the adjoining bathroom, closed the door, and turned on the tap.
I looked into the mirror.
The woman looking back at me looked like a ghost of the person who had walked into the hospital three days ago.
My eyes were sunken, surrounded by dark purple circles. My skin was sallow and dry. My hair was tied up in a messy, greasy knot at the crown of my head. I wore an oversized gray sweatshirt covered in milk stains and pair of black maternity sweatpants that sagged around my hips.
I unbuttoned the sweatshirt and looked down at my stomach.
It was soft, loose, and dark red stretch marks lined my lower belly like lightning strikes.
I reached out and touched my skin.
For nine months, this flesh had been firm, round, and full of life. It had been the sacred place where my daughter lived.
Now, it looked like an abandoned house.
Below, through the floorboards, I could hear the muffled sounds of laughter from the living room.
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"Look at her eyes! She’s opening her eyes! They’re definitely blue like Caleb’s!"
I closed my eyes, rested my forehead against the cool glass of the bathroom mirror, and wept in complete silence.
