Skip to content “I can’t keep risking my arm because Derek refuses to pick up his own children. I need my arm to heal properly, Mom. My boys need me.”
Her voice softened immediately.
“Do you want me to come get you? My car is fixed.”
“Yes. I’ll pack.”
“Are you leaving him?”
I glanced toward the living room, where Derek was watching television.
“No. I’m trying to heal.”
It was the first time I said it without apologizing.
An hour later, Mom handled the twins while I packed our things into the car.
Derek came outside as I zipped the diaper bag.
“Where are you going?”
“Mom’s.”
“With Luke and Miles?”
“Yes.”
His expression changed.
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
“Hope, you can’t just walk out.”
“I asked you to help me stay.”
He stared at me.
I didn’t wait for another argument.
I got into the car.
At Mom’s house, Luke fell asleep against her chest while Miles kicked his legs beside me on the couch.
My phone rang.
It was Derek.
“Bring them home.”
“No.”
“I’m their father.”
“Then start acting like one.”
He went silent.
Then his voice became sharper.
“Do you realize what this makes me look like?”
And suddenly, everything became clear.
He hadn’t asked whether I was okay.
He hadn’t asked if my arm hurt more.
He hadn’t asked whether the twins were okay.
His first concern was how he looked.
“Tell people the truth,” I said.
“Are you serious? How dare you make me look like some kind of deadbeat father?”