He rubbed his forehead with a palm. “I’m exhausted, Brianna. Moms don’t get sick days.”
I looked down at my thick cast. “I’m injured.”
“That’s not my problem,” he said flatly.
“I don’t even know who you are right now,” I repeated silently to myself.
I stared up at him. “I’m asking you to help me a little.”
“You take care of them, because that’s your job,” he said.
He turned around and walked straight out of the nursery. Noah kept crying, and Liam grabbed the plastic edge of my cast with both of his small hands.
I gently freed myself from his grip and whispered, “Okay, I’ve got you.”
I had been telling myself that I was fine and that I had everything under control for far too long.
My mom, Nora, came over the very next afternoon. She found me wiping spilled formula off the kitchen counter with my good hand while Liam kicked enthusiastically in his bouncy seat.
