The days that followed were a suffocating fog of grief and grim duty. Sarah’s service took place at the Willow Creek Baptist Church. The old wooden pews were packed shoulder-to-shoulder with townsfolk.
These were the people who knew her as the endlessly cheerful mom in the school pickup line, the woman who always bought an extra dozen chocolate chip cookies at the PTA bake sale just to be supportive. I stood tall near the front, mechanically shaking hands and accepting foil-covered casseroles and hushed condolences.
Mia and Ava practically anchored themselves to my legs, their eyes red-rimmed and swimming with utter confusion. Noah stayed tucked away with Lisa, mercifully too young to absorb the crushing sorrow radiating through that room.
I kept my own emotions locked inside a heavy steel vault, my heart bound tightly by an invisible chain. I knew that if I let my guard down for even a second, I would completely shatter. And my girls desperately needed their father standing on his own two feet.
My older sister, Rachel, couldn’t make the trip down from Chicago. She was busy running a high-powered marketing firm up there, and we had let our lives drift apart over the years, especially after our parents passed away. She did send a very generous check to help out, and she called me a few days later, her voice crackling over a bad cellular connection.
“I’m so sorry, Ethan,” she said, sounding genuinely heartbroken. “I wanted to be there, but work’s an absolute nightmare right now. You okay?”
“No,” I admitted, my voice flat. “But I’ve got the kids. Gotta keep going.”
“You do. That boy you wanted so bad—he’s here. Pour your love into him, into Mia and Ava. They’ll get you through.”
I let out a low grunt, entirely unconvinced. Truth be told, I barely knew how to parent my daughters on a day-to-day basis, let alone a fragile newborn. Mia was obsessed with her little science kits, constantly firing off endless questions about the stars and the universe. Ava was fiercely attached to a ratty stuffed unicorn and could throw a legendary tantrum over a plate of steamed broccoli.
But Noah? Noah was a blank slate. His sudden, sharp cries were just a constant, agonizing reminder of everything I had lost to get him here. If it hadn’t been for Lisa stepping up, I would have been completely underwater.
She ended up staying on after the funeral. I offered to pay her as a full-time nanny, and she moved right into our spare guest room, having already quit her cashier gig down at the local Kroger just to help out.
To keep myself from losing my mind, I threw every ounce of my energy into that long-held dream of running a mechanic shop. The spacious two-car garage sitting right next to our house was already rigged up with a professional lift and a solid wall of tools. It was the perfect setup for a fledgling small business.
I started taking on local jobs—routine oil changes, squeaky brake repairs, swapping out alternators. It kept my hands dirty and kept me close to home. But it didn’t take long for me to notice the cracks forming inside the house.
Noah was frequently left crying in his crib, stewing in a wet diaper, while Lisa devoted all her time to fussing over Mia and Ava. One evening, after walking in to find my infant son soaked through his onesie and screaming from hunger, I finally snapped.
“Lisa, what on earth is going on?” I shouted, pacing the floor of the nursery. “I’m paying you to take care of all my kids, not just the girls. Noah’s a complete mess. What exactly are you doing in here all day?”
Lisa’s eyes instantly welled up with tears, her lower lip trembling pitifully.
“That’s all the thanks I get?” she fired back, her voice thick with sudden emotion. “Look at Mia and Ava—they’re happy, dressed up like little princesses! I do it for them because they’re yours, Ethan. You don’t see how much I actually care.”
She suddenly clamped a hand over her mouth, all the color draining from her face. My blood ran ice cold in my veins.
“What do you mean, my girls?” I demanded, the air suddenly sucked out of the room. “What about Noah?”
Lisa dropped her voice to a terrified whisper.
“I didn’t mean to say it. But come on, Ethan, you’re not blind. Look at Noah. The blond hair, that weird birthmark. Then look at you and the girls. You were always out on the road. Sarah was lonely. She was only human.”
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