“The cribs.”
Mom looked over. “And Ryan?”
“He’ll get the documents. I’m not hiding the babies, Mom. I just need to get out of here. I’d rather struggle where I feel safe than stay somewhere I’m treated as invisible.”
***
For the next six hours, I directed the move, photographed each room, saved Ryan’s messages, copied the feeding schedules, and paid from my savings.
“And Ryan?”
During the move, Ryan called on video.
“What’s all that noise?”
“Movers.”
His smile slipped. “Shannon, what are you doing? We have no money to redecorate.”
“Taking care of what you left behind. I have movers here.”
“Stop them.”
“What’s all that noise?”
“No.”
“I’m serious, Shannon.”
“So am I.”
I ended the call.
***
By evening, the old house still had dusty windows and a sticking front door, but the cribs stood ready.
The day Ryan returned, Mom stayed there with the babies. Shaun waited nearby.
“I’m serious, Shannon.”
I sat alone in our kitchen with my ring and the legal folder.
Ryan walked in, filming himself.
“Back to real life.”
Then he saw the empty baby spaces.
“Where are they?”
“Home.”
“This is their home.”
“Back to real life.”
“No. This is where I raised them alone.”
He opened the folder.
“You filed for divorce?”
“I started the process.”
“Shaun did this. He convinced you. He’s always hated me!”
I stood.
“You filed for divorce?”
“Shaun carried furniture. Mom watched the babies.”
I met his eyes.
“And I left you.”
Ryan turned toward the hallway.
“You moved the babies while I was gone?”
“I moved them somewhere I wasn’t raising them alone.”
“And I left you.”
His eyes dropped to the folder. “You’re keeping them from me.”
“No. The proposed schedule is inside. You wanted family to be someone else’s job, so now you can learn yours.”
“This is because of one trip?”
