POV: Everyone says love changes after a baby. No one tells you what happens when it changes into something you don't recognize.
TW: Postpartum themes, mature emotional content, infidelity, relationship conflict, grief, and heartbreak.
The house had never been this quiet.
Not even during those sleepless nights when our daughter finally drifted off against my chest and the only sound was the hum of the baby monitor.
Tonight, the silence was different.
I stood at the kitchen counter, rocking the bottle in my hand back and forth, watching the formula swirl into a cloudy white.
Our daughter was only two months old.
The pediatrician said she was healthy. My mom said I looked tired. The mirror told me I looked like someone I didn’t recognize.
The oversized T-shirt I wore was stained with formula. My hair had been thrown into the same messy bun for three days. Dark circles settled permanently beneath my eyes, and every time I caught my reflection, all I could see was how much pregnancy had changed me.
I kept telling myself Chris still saw me.
That he still looked at me the way he did in high school.
Back when he’d steal my blanket because it smelled like me.
Back when forever sounded easy.
He set his keys on the counter.
We used to fill silence so easily.
Now it swallowed us whole.
Lately, nothing I did seemed to reach him.
Immediately, my stomach dropped.
No sentence had ever started with I think and ended well.
“I think we need to talk.”
Not because it was funny.
Of course it was tonight.
Of course it was after I had finally gotten the baby to sleep.
Of course it was after another day of wondering why he barely looked at me anymore.
I slowly placed the bottle on the counter.
He rubbed the back of his neck.
The same nervous habit he’d had since we were fourteen.
“I don’t think this is working.”
The word echoed in my ears.
There hadn’t been an us in months.
Not since I got pregnant.
Not since he started coming home later.
Not since every kiss felt obligatory.
“What are we doing? Therapy? More date nights? We can ask my mom to watch the baby one night—”
Somewhere upstairs, the floor creaked.
“I didn’t mean for it to happen.”
My lips parted, but no sound came out.
“I’ve been seeing someone.”
As if it didn’t carry knives.
It knew before he answered.
His voice barely came out.
“…Since you were pregnant.”
I backed away so quickly my hip hit the counter.
While I was throwing up every morning.
While I cried because nothing fit.
While he held my hand during ultrasounds.
While he kissed my forehead after hearing our baby’s heartbeat.
While he told me I was beautiful.
He was sleeping with someone else.
I looked down at my body.
The stomach that hadn’t gone back.
The faint stretch marks peeking above my waistband.
Without thinking, I wrapped my arms around myself.
It was like I suddenly understood why he stopped touching me.
Every insecurity I’d fought for months came rushing back all at once.
Was it because I wasn’t pretty anymore?
Because all I talked about was diapers and feeding schedules?
Because I wasn’t her anymore.
The fourteen year-old girl he’d fallen in love with.
I looked up so fast my neck hurt.
“I never wanted to hurt you.”
“You had months to stop.”
“You woke up next to me every morning.”
“You watched our daughter be born.”
“And you still came home pretending you loved me.”
The words hit harder than if he’d slapped me.
“…maybe we’d be better off as friends.”
“Please don’t make this harder Y/n.”
I stared at him in disbelief.
“You think I’m making this harder?”
I pointed toward the stairs where our daughter slept.
I couldn’t even recognize my own voice anymore.
“We made a whole person.”
“I still wake up every two hours because she needs me.”
“My body is still healing.”
“I still have stretch marks from carrying your daughter.”
Another sob escaped before I could stop it.
“…you want to be friends?”
I couldn’t stop crying now.
He looked at me helplessly.
“How do I forget the first time you told me you loved me?”
“The tiny apartment we could barely afford?”
“The crib we built together?”
“You crying when you heard her heartbeat?”
“The way you kissed my forehead while I was in labor?”
I took one shaky step toward him.
“How do I erase every version of us…”
“…so I can call you my friend?”
Because there wasn’t one.
A cry echoed from upstairs.
For a second, we both looked toward the ceiling.
And I realized something that hurt almost as much as everything he’d said.
No matter what happened after tonight…
He would always be the father of my child.
And I would always remember the boy who promised he’d never leave me.
Even if the man standing in front of me already had.
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