But Lily herself, with her gas, her cries, her tiny unpredictable needs, seemed to confuse him.
When she fussed during visits, he handed her back to the supervisor.
When she needed feeding, he complained the schedule made bonding difficult.
When she spit up on his shirt, he sent Priya a message asking whether I had packed “inappropriate feeding quantities.”
Priya stared at that email for five full seconds.
Then she said, “I have been practicing law for nineteen years, and men still find new ways to disappoint me.”
I laughed for the first time in days.
Slowly, I began to recover.
Not heal.
Recover enough to stand in the shower without crying.
Recover enough to walk around the block with Lily strapped to my chest.
Recover enough to open my laptop and look at the online adjunct teaching schedule I had abandoned when Ryan convinced me pregnancy made work impractical.
