Chapter 8 - The Life He Chose Instead
“You were going to tell me after everything was settled?”
Derek gripped the steering wheel.
“Nothing is final.”
“Then tell me what isn't final.”
He stared through the windshield.
“The company is opening a regional management position in Columbus.”
I felt my stomach drop.
We lived outside Pittsburgh.
Columbus wasn't impossibly far away.
But it was far enough to change our jobs, childcare, housing, and the boys' entire routine.
“And you applied?”
“Yes.”
“Without telling me?”
“I wanted to see if it was a real possibility before worrying you.”
I looked at him.
“Worrying me?”
“You've had a lot going on.”
I glanced down at my cast.
“Because I broke my arm?”
“Because everything has been difficult lately.”
He said it as though difficulty were a storm that had happened to us.
Not something he had made worse through his choices.
“Derek, when did you apply?”
He hesitated.
“About seven weeks ago.”
Before my accident.
Before the notebook.
Before the family dinner.
Before he'd told me I needed to figure things out.
I stepped back from the car.
“Seven weeks?”
“Hope—”
“You knew you might be leaving the state while I was preparing to return to work with two infants.”
“It would be better money.”
“For whom?”
“For our family.”
“Did you ask our family?”
He looked exhausted.
“I knew you'd say no.”
The sentence hit me harder than any denial could have.
He hadn't kept quiet because he feared upsetting me.
He'd kept quiet because he knew I might disagree.
And disagreement would mean he couldn't simply make the decision himself.
I returned to the house.
That evening, I told Carol and Frank about the potential transfer.
Frank looked genuinely surprised.
“He told me he was interviewing for a promotion,” he said. “Not that he might move you out of state.”
Carol folded her hands.
“And where did he expect Hope to work?”
I gave a humorless laugh.
“Apparently nowhere.”
Nobody spoke.
Then Priya asked something I'd been avoiding.
“Hope, does Derek know how much he's asking you to give up?”
“I don't think he's ever considered it a sacrifice.”
Priya looked angry.
But Carol looked frightened.
And that worried me more.
“Carol?”
She sighed.
“I've been thinking about something Derek said after the boys were born.”
I waited.
“He told me the family would be happier once you stopped trying to do everything.”
“That sounds almost reasonable,” I said.
“It did at the time.”
She looked down.
“But then he asked whether I thought you were too attached to your career.”
I felt my face grow warm.
“What did you say?”
“I told him you were proud of your work and had every reason to be.”
“And?”
“He said maybe you needed a reason to slow down.”
For several seconds, all I could hear was Miles babbling in the adjoining room.
A reason to slow down.
I remembered Derek refusing the feeding schedule.
Turning away Aunt Linda.
Telling Carol I didn't want visitors.
Questioning whether my job counted.
Had he really believed that making motherhood more difficult would convince me to stop working?
I didn't want to believe that.
But I could no longer ignore the possibility.
The following morning, I met Denise for coffee near my office.
She had offered to talk through my return-to-work plan.
We discussed flexible hours, medical appointments, and the possibility of additional temporary childcare.
Then I told her Derek was considering relocating.
Denise frowned.
“Have you decided what you want?”
“No.”
“Then don't let somebody else's deadline make the decision for you.”
I looked at her.
She continued.
“You have options here, Hope. You're a valued employee.”
She explained that a senior claims specialist position would soon open.
It involved mentoring newer adjusters and handling complex cases.
The schedule would be more predictable.
I hadn't considered applying.
For months, I had been so focused on surviving the next feeding that I'd stopped imagining anything beyond it.
“Think about it,” Denise said.
“I'm not sure I can manage more responsibility right now.”
“That's fair. But responsibility at work isn't the only thing that has to change.”
I drove back to Carol's house feeling something unfamiliar.
Possibility.
Then I found Derek waiting in the driveway.
He had brought a large paper bag filled with baby supplies.
And he looked unusually calm.
“I've been thinking,” he said.
“So have I.”
“I want to fix this.”
I studied him carefully.
“What does fixing it look like?”
“I'll take the boys three evenings a week. I'll handle bedtime. I'll help with laundry.”
“That would be a start.”
“And I'll support you staying at your job for now.”
The last two words made me pause.
“For now?”
He looked impatient.
“Can we please not argue about every little thing?”
I stepped aside.
“Come inside. We need to discuss this properly.”
We sat at the dining room table.
I asked him about the relocation.
He said he hadn't accepted anything.
I asked about the transferred money.
He admitted it was meant to cover early expenses if we moved.
I asked whether he had planned to ask me before accepting a position.
He said yes.
But he wouldn't say when.
Finally, I asked about the benefits program.
“Did Northline offer you caregiver leave?”
Derek stared at his hands.
“It's complicated.”
“Did they?”
He swallowed.
“Yes.”
My heart pounded.
“Did you apply?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I had the leadership interview coming up.”
I felt my throat tighten.
“You could have taken time to help me?”
He rubbed his forehead.
“I thought you'd manage until things settled down.”
“Derek, I nearly reinjured my arm.”
“I know.”
“No. You knew then.”
He looked away.
I waited until he met my eyes again.
“There's more you're not telling me.”
He didn't deny it.
Instead, he said, “If I tell you everything, you're going to think the worst of me.”
I stared at him.
“Then maybe the answer is to stop doing things you have to hide.”
He stood and picked up his keys.
“I need some time.”
I didn't stop him.
After he left, I sat with the blue notebook.
For weeks, I had written down everything Derek failed to do.
But one detail suddenly seemed more important than all the others.
My original discharge instructions had been placed in his pocket at the hospital.
At the time, I was exhausted and in pain.
I remembered the nurse asking who would help me at home.
I remembered Derek answering before I could speak.
I'd forgotten his exact words.
Until now.
I opened the patient portal and found the discharge summary.
Beneath the lifting restriction was a note from the nurse.
Home support plan discussed. Spouse reports he will provide primary infant lifting and handling until patient medically cleared.
I read it again.
Then I remembered how Derek had smiled at the nurse.
How reassuring he'd sounded.
How easily I'd believed him.
He hadn't misunderstood the doctor's orders.
He had promised to follow them.
And then he'd gone home and told me mothers didn't get sick days.
At the bottom of the discharge summary was another line.
Patient offered social-work assistance for arranging temporary support. Spouse indicated family support already organized.
I stared at the words.
No support had been organized.
May you like
At least none that had reached me.
And now I needed to know what Derek had done with the help he'd promised was already there.
