Chapter 4 - The Morning Knock
The sunlight filtered through the lace curtains of the farmhouse guest room, warm and pale. Maisie had woken twice during the night to nurse. Both times, before I could even push myself upright, my father had appeared quietly in the doorway, lifting my daughter from the bassinet and gently placing her into my arms so I wouldn't strain my incision.
By ten o'clock the next morning, my mind felt sharper. The physical pain was still sharp and real, but the paralyzing fog of exhaustion had receded. I was sitting propped up in bed, nursing Maisie, when I heard the sound of gravel crunching in the driveway.
A heavy door slammed outside.
A moment later, Marcus's voice drifted through the floorboards from the front porch, tight and warning: "You've got a lot of nerve showing up here, Graham."
"I'm here to see my wife and my daughter, Marcus! Get out of my way!"
I stiffened. Maisie unlatched, startled by the raised voices, and let out a soft whimper. I burped her against my shoulder, adjusting my robe as Dad walked into the guest room.
"He came alone," Dad said, looking at me carefully. "No Lorraine. Do you want to see him, Natalie? Because if you say no, Dean and Marcus will turn him around at the gate."
I looked down at Maisie. Her wide, slate-blue eyes stared up at me with total, innocent trust.
"I need to talk to him, Dad," I said quietly. "In here. But don't go far."
"We'll be on the porch," Dad said.
A minute later, the bedroom door clicked open. Graham stepped inside.
He looked terrible. His hair was unwashed, his blue button-down shirt wrinkled, and dark circles bruised the skin beneath his eyes. He stopped at the foot of the bed, his gaze darting nervously from me to the bassinet.
"Natalie," he breathed, taking a tentative step forward. "Thank God. Your brothers almost didn't let me up the steps."
"Why are you here, Graham?"
"Why am I here?" He laughed, a high, nervous sound that grated against my nerves. "Nat, you ran away with our four-day-old baby! I've been out of my mind all night! I came to take you home."
"Home?" I repeated, my tone icy. "To cook dinner for your mother?"
Graham flinched, running a hand through his hair. "Look, I know yesterday was a mess. Mom was out of line. I admit it! She was tired, she was frustrated, and she spoke without thinking. But you blew it completely out of proportion! Calling your father? Having Dean and Marcus storm into our house like a swat team? Do you have any idea how humiliating that was for me?"
I stared at him, feeling an almost clinical detachment settle over my chest.
"You think my father humiliated you?" I asked. "Graham, you humiliated me. You stood in our kitchen and told a woman whose stomach is held together by titanium staples that she was being lazy. You sided with a grown woman who refused to wash a single dish while I was in the hospital."
"She's my mother, Natalie!" Graham pleaded, stepping closer. "She came all the way from Arizona to help!"
"She didn't help," I said. "She sat on the sofa, watched you cater to her, and waited for me to get home so she'd have a maid."
"That's not fair—"
The door swung open behind Graham. Dean stood in the entryway, wearing his work boots and a grease-stained jacket. He held a large cardboard box in his arms, his jaw set in a hard, dangerous line.
"Dean, get out of here," Graham snapped, turning red. "We are having a private conversation."
"You left this at the house," Dean said, ignoring Graham completely and walking over to set the box on the dresser. "I went back over this morning to get Nat's breast pump and the rest of the newborn clothes."
Graham froze. "You went into my house?"
"Your front door was unlocked, Graham," Dean said coldly. "And your mother was in the kitchen, on speakerphone with your Aunt Sylvia."
A strange, guilty panic flashed across Graham's face. "Dean, whatever she was saying—"
"Shut up, Graham," Dean barked. He turned to me, his eyes dark with fury. "Nat, you need to hear this. While your husband was driving over here to play the remorseful father, Lorraine was bragging to Sylvia that everything was going according to schedule."
May you like
"What schedule?" I asked, my pulse quickening.
"Lorraine put her Scottsdale condo on the market on Monday," Dean said, staring directly at Graham. "She sold it to a cash buyer. She's moving into your house permanently. And Graham already agreed to it three weeks ago."
