I held the phone against my ear and waited for Ethan to explain himself.
He was still shouting.
"Do you have any idea what you've done?"
I glanced toward the nursery.
One of the babies had started stirring, making those small noises that usually came before a cry.
"I have three children to look after, Ethan. What are you talking about?"
He let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh.
"Don't pretend you don't know."
I heard a zipper moving in the background.
Then something hit a hard surface.
I pictured him standing beside his suitcase in that expensive resort room, surrounded by the things he had packed so carefully.
"What did you find?" I asked.
He went quiet for a second.
Then he said something that made me close my eyes.
"You switched my clothes."
I didn't answer immediately.
He was breathing hard enough that I could hear it through the phone.
"You went into my suitcase while I was sleeping."
"Yes."
The word came out more calmly than I expected.
I had spent weeks swallowing my feelings because I didn't have the energy to argue.
Now, with Ethan hundreds of miles away, I found that I could answer a direct question without apologizing first.
He seemed surprised by my honesty.
"You admit it?"
"I just did."
"Why would you do something like that?"
I looked at the kitchen counter.
The coffee cup was sitting beside the sink again, waiting to be washed.
I had forgotten about it after the babies needed feeding.
"Why did you leave me alone with three six-week-old babies?"
He made a frustrated noise.
"That has nothing to do with my suitcase."
"It has everything to do with it."
I heard him move around the room.
Then he lowered his voice, although the anger remained.
"I came here to relax. I paid a lot of money for this trip."
I almost laughed.
There it was again.
The money.
The reservation.
The vacation he had planned for himself.
Everything he had spent and everything he had arranged seemed more important to him than the three children he had left at home.
"I know you paid for it," I said.
"Then why would you ruin it?"
I took a breath.
"I asked you not to go."
"You were upset. You weren't thinking clearly."
I looked down at my hands.
There were small marks on my fingers from washing bottles and handling baby supplies all day.
I had barely noticed them until that moment.
"I knew exactly what I was asking you to do."
He started speaking again, but I heard a baby cry from the nursery.
I turned my head toward the sound.
"Ethan, I have to go."
"No, you're not hanging up on me."
"I'm not hanging up because I'm angry. One of the babies needs me."
He fell silent.
For a brief moment, I thought he might say something useful.
He could have asked whether the baby was okay.
He could have asked if I needed help.
Instead, he said, "We're not finished talking."
I went into the nursery with the phone still against my ear.
The baby was awake now, his face red and his fists moving beside his cheeks.
I picked him up carefully.
"I need to feed him."
"You can do that after you explain what you did."
I looked at the tiny face resting against my shoulder.
Something in me hardened.
"I don't owe you an explanation before I take care of our child."
I ended the call.
My hand shook afterward.
I wasn't proud of everything I had done.
I knew that changing the contents of somebody else's suitcase was a deliberate act, and I had made that choice out of anger.
But I also knew I could not spend the afternoon letting Ethan shout at me while I tried to care for our babies.
I set the phone on a shelf.
Then I prepared the bottle.
The baby drank eagerly, one small hand resting against my wrist.
I watched him swallow.
I listened to his breathing.
I tried to settle my own.
A few minutes later, the second baby woke up.
Then the third.
The house filled with noise again.
I moved between them as best I could, keeping the phone within reach but refusing to stare at it.
For the next hour, I had no time to think about Cabo.
I had bottles to wash.
A blanket to change.
A baby who would not settle unless I walked slowly around the room.
When I finally sat down, my arms were aching.
The phone rang again.
Ethan.
I let it ring twice before answering.
"What now?"
He sounded different.
Still angry, but more controlled.
"I want you to tell me why you did it."
I looked at the clock.
It was still the same afternoon.
He had been gone only a few hours, and already he was demanding that I stop everything to deal with his feelings.
I thought about the night before.
I remembered standing beside his bed, looking at the suitcase he had packed for a holiday while I prepared for another night with three babies.
"I wanted you to understand that your choices affect other people."
"By messing with my belongings?"
"By making you stop and think about what you've done."
He scoffed.
"You could have just talked to me."
I closed my eyes.
"I did talk to you."
There was no answer.
I continued before he could interrupt.
"I asked you to stay. I told you I was struggling. I explained that I needed help."
"I work hard."
"So do I."
"You don't have a job to go to every morning."
The words landed between us.
I looked at the nursery door.
I thought about the nights when I had sat upright with a baby against my chest because putting him down made him cry.
I thought about the pain of standing after sitting too long.
I thought about the meals I had skipped because feeding three children took longer than I expected.
Then I spoke.
"Taking care of our children is work, Ethan. You know that."
He didn't answer.
I could hear the faint sound of music in the background on his end.
It seemed wrong that music could be playing while we were having this conversation.
Then again, perhaps it was exactly right.
He had gone somewhere designed for pleasure.
I was at home doing what he had refused to help me do.
"I'll call you later," I said.
He started to object.
But I ended the call before he could.
This time, I didn't feel the same fear.
I felt tired.
And beneath the tiredness, I felt the first small sense that I could decide when a conversation was over.
I placed the phone on the counter.
Then I went back to the babies.
Click here to continue reading: PART 6: I Had Imagined Him Feeling Guilty, but His Next Call Showed Me He Was Still Thinking Only About Himself
I Thought We Were Building a Family Together, Until Three Tiny Cries Filled Our House and My Husband Started Sleeping Behind a Closed Door
Part 5 of 24
