When I Returned from the Hospital with Our Newborn, My Husband Had Changed the Locks – Twenty Hours Later, He Showed Up, Pounding and Screaming
Ray wasn’t shouting anymore. He just stood there, lost in a way I’d never seen before.
“Ten minutes,” I told him. “After that, I’m packing my things and figuring out what comes next.”
The car ride was silent.
Ray drove with both hands gripping the wheel, jaw tight, eyes forward. I noticed he had paint under his fingernails. Drywall dust on his jeans.
And in the back seat, a brand-new car seat was already installed.
He just stood there, lost in a way I’d never seen before.
“Ray?” I started.
“Please,” he said softly. “Just wait. Two more minutes.”
We pulled into our driveway.
He parked, got out, and came around to help me with the baby.
He unlocked the door and pushed it open.
I stepped inside and stopped breathing.
We pulled into our driveway.
Everything smelled of fresh paint and something floral… lavender, maybe.
The entryway had soft new lighting.
A plush rug I didn’t recognize stretched across the floor. The walls (once a dingy beige) were now painted a warm cream and white.
“Ray, what’s going on here?”
I walked down the hallway. Past the bathroom, which now had a handrail by the tub and a cushioned bath mat. Past our bedroom, where I glimpsed blackout curtains and a small bassinet set up beside the bed.
“Ray, what’s going on here?”
Then I reached the nursery.
And I started crying.
The room was perfect.
Not magazine-perfect. Not staged-perfect.
Perfect for us.
Soft gray and pink walls. White furniture. A rocking chair in the corner with a little side table and a reading lamp. Shelves with books and stuffed animals arranged carefully.
Above the crib, in careful hand-painted letters, it said: “Welcome, Little One.”
I started crying.
