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— "Gotcha. It’s okay," Mike said, gently setting Timmy back on the floor.
The boy seemed oblivious to the panic on his parents' faces. His eyes sparkled, and his laughter echoed through the room.
— "I was like a real knight, wasn’t I, Dad?" he exclaimed excitedly, holding his sword aloft as if ready to charge again.
Lily, noticing the attention on her brother, tugged at Jenna’s dress, her voice rising in urgency.
— "Mama! Mama! I need to go potty!" Her little hands clutched Jenna’s dress, and her eyes filled with tears.
— "Mike, please handle this," Jenna said, her voice weary as she leaned on the armrest of the chair for support.
Mike sighed, scooped Lily into his arms, and headed toward the bathroom.
— "It’s okay, Lily. Daddy’s got you," he said softly, though his exhaustion was plain.
Timmy, left behind, stomped his foot in frustration.
— "Daddy always plays with Lily! Mom, look at my new move!" he shouted, waving his sword as if battling an invisible foe.
Jenna rubbed her temples, feeling irritation welling up again.
— "Timmy, please, can you play by yourself for a little while?" she asked, her voice firm but quiet.
— "But, Mom..." He trailed off, catching her exhausted expression. Grumbling under his breath, he shuffled off to another room.
Left alone, Jenna felt a wave of relief mixed with exhaustion wash over her. The noise subsided, but the silence offered no peace. She closed her eyes and ran a hand over her face, trying to push down the pain and frustration.
‘Is this really my life now?’ the thought whispered in her mind. Jenna exhaled deeply, resting her hands on her rounded belly. The baby inside shifted slightly, and the sensation stirred something within her—not physical, but emotional. It was an ache, a reminder, and a question all at once.
As her hands brushed against her face, she held her breath for a moment, as if that could somehow silence the thoughts swirling in her head. But they refused to be ignored. Opening her eyes, she looked around the room. The scattered toys, the rumpled blanket on the couch, crumbs left on the carpet from yesterday’s snacks—it all screamed of her new reality.
Her gaze drifted to the kitchen, where groceries sat untouched and dishes waited to be cleaned. Everything around her reminded her that she wasn’t just a mother now, but the caretaker of this household. A role she had never asked for.
‘I should clean up,’ she thought, forcing herself to her feet. Her belly felt heavier with every step, but the thought of doing nothing felt unbearable. The helplessness would swallow her whole if she let it.
She started with the toys. Timmy always left everything strewn about, but she didn’t have the energy to scold him. He was only four; he didn’t understand why his mother seemed so sad. "He doesn’t even know who I used to be," the thought flitted through her mind as she picked up a stuffed bear. "This kid thinks I’m his mother. And he... he actually loves me. Loves me as I am now."
Her mind clung to the mundane tasks as a shield against deeper thoughts. But deep within, a voice—her old self, Joseph—shouted in defiance. "This isn’t me! This isn’t my life! I’m not a mother, not a wife, and definitely not some perfect homemaker!"
But that voice grew fainter with each passing day. Jenna exhaled shakily, her hands brushing over her massive belly again, as if seeking reassurance. The gentle kick of the baby reminded her, "You can’t just sit and complain. This is real. These... kids, this house, you can’t abandon them."
She finished tidying up the toys and turned toward the kitchen. The groceries needed unpacking, dinner had to be made. "And there’s dusting, laundry, maybe bake cookies—Timmy loves those chocolate chip ones… and, oh, the laundry." She rubbed her temples, feeling the headache building.
"If I don’t do it, who will?" she thought as she moved toward the kitchen. Sure, Mike helped when he could, but he had work. He earned the money. The thought made her pause. "Since when do I think of Mike as the man who provides for me?"
She shook her head sharply, as if to dislodge the thought, but it lingered.
"You’re a mother. You’re a wife. This is your life now. You have to care for the kids. Care for Mike. Care for the house. Care for..."
Jenna let out a heavy sigh, as though trying to expel the mounting weight of her thoughts. She approached the kitchen table and mechanically began unpacking the groceries: potatoes, carrots, chicken. Her hands moved automatically, the motions ingrained over the past few weeks, even as her mind rebelled.
"Just focus on cooking. Don’t think," she told herself, eyes fixed on the task. "Let this be routine," she thought. "Routine at least helps keep the madness at bay."