Hey love, youve got to hear what happened after I got home from the hospital. I was standing in the middle of a total mess dishes piled up, the fridge empty, the floor sticky, and in the corner of the balcony the broken drying rack still held my old lab coat, the one I wore when I rushed to the maternity ward a month and a half ago. No flowers, no notes, not a single hint of kindness. Just my husbands deadpan stare, as if I were the nosy neighbour who wandered in without knocking.
They say women get ultrasensitive after giving birth, but its not the hormones, is it? Its how people meet us, the words they use, the hugs they give or dont give.
Are you kidding me? I whispered, looking at him. Ive just come back with triplets. After the Csection
What then? he snapped. You said it was a caesarean. All under anaesthetic. You didnt actually give birth, you just lay there. Stop pretending. Are you even milking? If you are, go on, but thats not an excuse to neglect the house.
At first I thought he was joking, then I wondered if hed lost his mind, and then I thought maybe Id lost mine. After all, I did love him once, didnt I? My head was buzzing, my heart stopped for a beat, and I was clutching a travel bag full of nightgowns, pads and the two pairs of slippers Id knitted while pregnant. And there he was, talking to me like I was a lazy holidaymaker whod just returned from a break.
You didnt even pick us up from the hospital, I exhaled. I asked the orderlies to call a taxi, £15 each.
You wanted to be independent! he shouted. All the time you were pregnant you ran from me. All by yourself now do it yourself.
Carrying a child isnt about weakness. Its about believing someone will back you up, that you wont be left alone, that the person you love will stand by you. And if they dont?
If you cant handle it, Ill call my mum, he muttered, heading for the bathroom. Shell turn you into a proper housewife.
Enter my motherinlaw, Margaret Hargreaves a woman whose glare could fry an egg. She always wore that grey coat, short hair, and her voice sounded like steel. Nobody argued with her, not even the boss. I braced myself for a storm of scoldings, a broom in hand, a lecture about the right way to scrub a floor.
But she just walked in, quiet as a mouse. Something in her eyes was different. She scanned the kitchen, then me, then my silence.
Are you going to clean? she asked, suddenly.
I didnt get a chance to answer.
After a Csection? Get down on your knees right now!
I was stunned. She hung up her coat, slipped on an apron, grabbed a cloth and a bucket, and started mopping the floor herself.
Sometimes kindness shows up in the most unexpected package a sharpvoiced, nononsense lady. Within half an hour the kitchen smelled of stew, and I was sprawled on the sofa under a pile of cushions while Margaret was rinsing towels, humming, Triplets youve got your work cut out for you.
When my husband finally came back with his phone and that weak smile, she lunged at him like a thunderstorm.
Youve gone mad? A woman has just delivered three babies! Surgery, pain, recovery and you think its okay to make her mop the floor?
Mum, but you said
I? You promised youd manage. You said you loved us, that everything was under control. I believed you!
She sighed, looked at me, and whispered, Youre a monster, James. A monster in a human body.
When a mother takes the side of another woman, its a win, even if it feels bitter.
Who put that idea in your head? James shrugged. A colleague Paul. He swore Csections arent real births, that milk is a myth, that women just make things up.
Silence! Margaret yelled, and he shut up.
That same day trouble started brewing at his office. Coworkers overheard his chatter, and Tanya the midwife whod supported me through the pregnancy had had enough.
She saw you after a Csection, she saw you barely sleeping for weeks, feeling aches everywhere! the manager shouted, putting James on leave without pay until they sorted it out.
And Paul? He got pulled into an investigation for harassment and abuse of power. Karma moves slowly but hits precisely.
Margaret took my little boy in for a fortnight. When he came back, he was a different kid quiet, clutching a book on parenting, and a pot of stew on the stove.
I’m sorry, he dropped to his knees. I was a fool, selfish. Give me another chance. Just one.
I stared at him for a long moment, then said, One. But if you do it again
There wont be a second chance, he cut in. I swore to Mum. Swearing to her scares me more than swearing to you. Im sorry.
Sometimes you have to fall to see where you went wrong, though not everyone gets better. Luck smiled on me; he got his second chance.
Things didnt change overnight, but they did. He learned how to change diapers, make porridge, wake up at three for a feeding. He apologised for every hurtful word, every sleepless night.
Margaret showed up every Saturday with fresh rolls and the reminder, Youre not alone now. Remember that.
And Im not alone. I have my kids, a support network, a family, and a husband who now flips pancakes and shouts at noisy neighbours while the little ones nap.
One line has become my talisman: Youre not alone now.
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