“A second version of me.”
“I’m serious.”
“Wash the bottles. Then hold Ivy so I can shower.”
When I returned, Summer was rocking one baby while entertaining the other. She placed a warm sandwich in front of me and ordered me to eat.
Then she asked how much Brandon actually helped.
I admitted that the stories I told people were exaggerated. He had handled two nights since the twins were born. Most evenings, he complained about dinner, the crying, or the messy house.
“Why have you been protecting him?” she asked.
“Because I thought people’s judgment would damage our marriage.”
“And what did hiding the truth do?”
“It left me carrying it alone.”
Soon afterward, Brandon’s mother, Dawn, called. I had always told her the polished version too: Brandon helped, we were adjusting, and I was only tired.
This time, I told the truth.
Dawn asked when I had last slept for more than two hours. I could not remember. She asked whether I had spoken to my doctor.
