“I’ll call every day. Four months will pass quickly.”
“What happens if I go into labor?”
“You’ll call an ambulance.”
I could hardly believe the words coming from his mouth.
“Please don’t go,” I whispered.
For a moment, he looked almost guilty.
Then he picked up his suitcase.
“I need this, Tessa.”
Three days later, he boarded the ship.
That same night, my water broke.
Our neighbor found me on the kitchen floor and called an ambulance. By sunrise, I was being rushed into an emergency delivery room.
Our daughters arrived far too early.
Ava weighed less than two pounds. Rose was slightly smaller. Little Grace could barely breathe without help.
They were immediately taken to the neonatal intensive care unit.
I did not get to hold them.
When I woke after surgery, I called Colin.
No answer.
I left a message telling him the babies had been born. Then I sent him a photograph of the three incubators.
He replied almost an hour later.
Cute.
That was all.
A nurse named Rachel saw me staring at the message and quietly placed my phone facedown on the bed.
“Rest,” she said gently. “Your daughters need you.”
I wanted to make excuses for Colin.
Maybe the ship had poor reception. Maybe he was frightened. Maybe he did not understand how serious the situation was.
But the days passed, and his messages remained short.
How are they?
Everything okay?
Busy today.
He never asked to speak to the doctors. He never asked when the girls might come home.
Meanwhile, photographs appeared on his social media.
Colin smiling beside a swimming pool.
Colin drinking wine at sunset.
Colin standing on a beach with his arm cropped strangely out of the picture.
In one photograph, I could see a woman’s hand resting on his shoulder.
When I asked him about it, he replied:
Don’t start, Tessa.
That was when I stopped believing he had gone away merely to clear his head.
Three weeks later, I received a bank notice.
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