Page 8 of Something Like Shelter

It was one.

One in the afternoon.

I’d been asleep for hours.

Perhaps even more shockingly, Adelaide had been either asleep or calm for hours.

“Hey, sweet girl,” I said, stripping off my wet shirt and reaching for her. “You have to be starving.”

And I was aching from fullness.

If you’d have told me a few months ago that I would be tits-out on my bed while a repairman was possibly still roaming around my house, I would have laughed. But it was amazing what survival mode and motherhood did to your thoughts on modesty.

But, well, when you’d been spread-eagle on a bed in front of strangers while you delivered, then had someone ice your sore lady bits and walk you to the bathroom in your diaper, yeah, your body didn’t quite feel your own the way it used to.

I figured it would come back. Once this hard first stage was over. Once I was done being poked and prodded and wasn’t strapping myself to a machine that milked me in between nursing because I was something my lactation nurse called a ‘hyperlactator.’

“It’s great!” she’d insisted when I replaced yet another soaked pad from my nursing bra. “You can freeze the milk. Some hyperlactators even donate their breast milk to milk banks who supply it to hospitals for preemies.”

I supposed I should be thankful that I produced enough. But in my overtired mind and sore body, all I could focus on was that when I didn’t have a baby attached to me, I often had a machine. It was exhausting.

“It won’t be like this for long,” my mom’s voice said in my head. “I know that’s not a huge comfort when you’re in the trenches and so tired that you can’t think, or see, straight. But it won’t last. It’s just a few weeks, maybe a few months. Then you’re going to look back and wish you’d soaked up more of this time.”

It was why I’d refused not to take my maternity leave, even though my very male-dominated office had some glances to shoot in my direction.

I wanted to be present.

I wanted to enjoy it.

Lord knew there was a lot about my daughter’s conception and my pregnancy that had not been good or easy. But I’d endured. So I’d earned this protective little bubble I was living in.

Even if I knew myself. And by that I mean, the second Adelaide slept through the night, I would probably start working remotely. If for no other reason than not to allow the men who’d been nipping at my heels for years to get my job the chance to sneak in while I was busy being a mom.

Because, yes, motherhood was part of my new identity. But I’d worked so hard to get to where I was in life. My career was important to me. It was the only reason I was able to make the decision I’d made to be able to do this motherhood thing without a partner. It was how I was going to be able to give my daughter the life I wanted her to have.

I wanted to be able to keep my job.

Besides, it was an outlet.

And as the newborn phase swallowed me up wholly, I figured that outlet was going to be very welcome eventually.

Also, I wanted to be a good role model for my girl. Show her that she could be and do anything she wanted. That you could always fall back on your education and your career. Even when a man you thought you loved and could trust ran out on you and the baby you created.

“You really like the fans, huh?” I asked when I pulled Adelaide away from my chest and set her on my shoulder, something that usually led to a loud cry. But she just let me pat her until I got a little burp then went still again.

I carefully set her back on the bed, cautiously hopeful. And she just… settled.

“Okay. I guess we will be living in here with the fans until I can buy some for your nursery.” With that, I climbed up, got a fresh shirt, and checked the bathroom. There was no sign of Owen. The space felt at once very warm from the dehumidifier but also damp and musty.

I emptied the water collection into the sink before walking out of the bedroom in search of my handyman, ready to apologize profusely for falling asleep on him.

But my house was empty.

Weirdly quiet.

I paused halfway through my kitchen, staring at the empty sink, uncomprehending for a moment.

Someone loaded my dishwasher for me?