Chapter 3 - The Unspoken Contract
Peter returned at six-thirty. He came in through the garage, dropping his leather briefcase onto the entryway bench with the familiar, heavy thud that usually signaled the end of a long workday. He smelled of rain and coffee.
"Hey," he called out, walking into the kitchen. He leaned down to kiss my cheek, but I turned slightly, letting his lips brush the side of my jaw instead.
He pulled back, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in my posture. I was sitting at the dining table with my laptop open.
"Where's Willa?" he asked, looking toward the staircase. "Did Kara pick her up?"
"She picked her up at eight this morning," I said. "She asked if you were going to be here to say goodbye."
Peter checked his watch, a flicker of guilt crossing his features before he smoothed it over. "I had that quarterly review with the regional team. I told her yesterday I'd call her tonight. Is she okay?"
"She's fine," I said evenly. "Elena sent the photo gallery link this morning."
Peter’s body visibly relaxed. He walked over to the refrigerator, opened it, and pulled out a bottle of sparkling water. "Oh, good. How did they turn out? Did she catch any good ones of Nina smiling?"
"She caught a lot of things," I said. "Including the shots from Tuesday the 21st."
Peter froze. The cap of the water bottle was halfway unthreaded. He didn't turn around immediately; he stayed facing the open refrigerator door for two long seconds before slowly closing it and leaning against the counter.
"Beth," he began, his voice taking on that low, measured cadence he used in negotiations.
"Don't," I said. "Don't use your court voice on me, Peter. Just explain to me why you took our three-month-old baby to a photo studio while telling me you were at the pediatrician."
He took a slow breath, setting the bottle down on the counter. "It wasn't a big deal. My mother was turning sixty-five next month. She’s been struggling with... with the dynamic since Willa was born, and even more so since Kara and I split. She felt disconnected. She wanted one simple portrait for her cabinet. Just her son, his wife, and their new baby."
"I wasn't in those photos, Peter," I pointed out, pointing to the screen where the thumbnails were clearly visible. "It was just you and Nina."
"Because you were at work!" he snapped, his composure cracking slightly. "I knew you would turn it into a massive ordeal if I asked you to come! Look at how you're reacting right now! You're treating it like an affair!"
"It is a betrayal," I said, my voice dropping an octave, becoming dead calm. "You lied to me about where our daughter was. You spent money from our joint account to hire a photographer to create a visual representation of our family that excludes your firstborn child, specifically to satisfy your mother's weird, toxic desire to pretend your first marriage never happened."
"That's not what it was!" Peter walked over to the opposite side of the dining table, resting his hands on the back of a chair. "My mother is old-fashioned. She comes from a world where extended family portraits and nuclear family portraits are separate things. She wanted a picture of her son's direct line. It has nothing to do with hating Willa."
"If it has nothing to do with hating Willa, why did you hide it from her?" I asked. "Why didn't you sit Willa down and say, 'Hey, head's up, your grandmother wants a photo of just Nina and me for her shelf'? Why did you sneak around on a Tuesday afternoon?"
Peter remained silent.
"Because you knew it was wrong," I answered for him. "You knew that if Willa found out, she would feel like an extra in her own father's life. And yesterday, when your mother took her by the arm and shoved her out of the frame, you sat there and said, 'Mom, you could've said that better.' You didn't care that she excluded Willa. You were just mad that she blew your cover."
Peter stood upright, his face flushed. "You're twisting this. You're trying to turn me into a villain because I tried to keep the peace between my mother and my wife."
"I am not your mother's rival, Peter. And Willa is not a temporary guest in this house. She is your daughter. If your mother cannot accept that your family includes the child you had before you met me, then your mother does not get a portrait."
"She's my mother, Beth! I am not going to cut her off over a frame!"
"No one asked you to cut her off," I said, closing the laptop with a firm snap. "I asked you to protect your daughter. But clearly, you've made a choice about whose comfort matters more in this family."
I stood up, picked up Nina’s baby monitor, and walked toward the stairs.
"Where are you going?" Peter called out after me.
"I'm going to feed Nina," I said without turning around. "And then I'm going to call Kara."
May you like
Peter stepped into the hallway, his face going pale. "Why would you call Kara? This is between us."
"Because Willa is going to come home next week," I said, looking down at him from the landing. "And if Kara needs to know why her eleven-year-old daughter spent yesterday evening counting mailboxes on the highway so she wouldn't cry, I am not going to lie to cover for you or your mother."
