Chapter 2 - Margaret's Rules)
By Lily's fourth day home, Margaret had created a schedule.
Claire found it on the kitchen island beside her breast pump.
6:00.
9:00.
12:00.
3:00.
Then the cycle repeated.
Three hours between feedings.
No exceptions.
Claire picked up the paper and stared at it.
Daniel entered the kitchen.
"What's this?"
"You know what it is."
"I know what it looks like."
Daniel opened the refrigerator.
"Then why ask?"
Claire crumpled the paper.
"Because your mother doesn't decide when Lily eats."
Daniel's shoulders stiffened.
"Mom talked to people."
"What people?"
"Women she knows."
Claire almost smiled from disbelief.
"I talked to Lily's pediatrician."
"Doctors change their minds every five years."
"The doctor told us to feed her when she's hungry."
"And Mom says constantly feeding makes babies dependent."
Claire stared at him.
"What exactly do you think a newborn is supposed to be?"
Daniel closed the refrigerator harder than necessary.
"Dependent doesn't mean helpless."
"She weighs six pounds."
"You're twisting everything."
"No. I'm listening."
Daniel stepped closer.
Claire noticed how quickly his expression changed when she challenged something connected to Margaret.
He could tolerate criticism of himself.
He could tolerate complaints about work.
He could tolerate arguments about money.
But when Claire questioned his mother, his jaw tightened as if she had insulted something sacred.
"You don't understand my family," he said.
Claire looked toward the living room, where Lily slept in her bassinet.
"I understand enough."
"What does that mean?"
"It means your mother walked into our house at two in the morning because you called her instead of waking me."
"You needed sleep."
"She needed food."
"She needed structure."
Claire put both hands on the counter.
"She's four days old."
Daniel lowered his voice.
"And you're becoming emotional."
There it was.
Claire had heard the word three times since leaving the hospital.
Emotional.
Margaret used it whenever Claire disagreed.
Daniel had started using it too.
Claire suddenly wondered whether that was accidental.
Later that afternoon, Margaret arrived carrying groceries.
She did not knock.
Daniel had given her a key.
Claire had not known.
Margaret walked into the kitchen and saw the schedule crumpled beside the trash can.
She stopped.
"You threw it away."
Claire was washing pump parts.
"Yes."
Margaret placed the grocery bag down slowly.
"I spent time making that."
"I didn't ask you to."
Margaret studied Claire.
"You should be grateful."
"For what?"
"For people trying to stop you from making mistakes."
Claire laughed once.
"What mistake?"
Margaret glanced toward the bassinet.
"Using the baby to satisfy your own anxiety."
Claire turned off the faucet.
"What did you just say?"
"You feed her every time she makes a noise because it makes you feel useful."
Claire wiped her hands.
"Get out."
Margaret blinked.
Daniel entered from the hallway.
"What happened?"
Claire pointed toward the door.
"Your mother is leaving."
Daniel looked at Margaret.
Margaret did not move.
"Claire," Daniel said, "calm down."
"She just accused me of feeding Lily for attention."
"That's not what she meant."
"It is exactly what she meant."
Margaret picked up the grocery bag.
"I said you're anxious."
"And I said leave."
Daniel stepped between them.
"This is ridiculous."
Claire looked at him.
"Then make it simple. Ask her to leave."
Daniel's face hardened.
"No."
The word landed more heavily than a shout.
Claire stared at him.
Daniel folded his arms.
"This is my house too."
"And Lily is my daughter too."
"Exactly. Ours. Not yours."
Margaret's gaze moved between them.
Claire saw something almost satisfied in her face.
The realization made Claire colder.
This was not about helping.
Margaret wanted the disagreement.
Maybe she needed it.
Claire picked up Lily and went upstairs.
Twenty minutes later, she heard Daniel and Margaret speaking quietly below.
Claire stepped into the hallway.
She could not hear everything.
Only fragments.
"Too unstable..."
"...document it..."
"...give it time."
Claire froze.
Then the refrigerator door opened.
A few seconds later, she heard the sink.
Water ran for nearly a minute.
When Claire came downstairs after Margaret left, one bottle of pumped milk was missing.
She searched the refrigerator twice.
Then the freezer.
Then the counter.
Nothing.
"Daniel?"
He was watching television.
"Did you move one of Lily's bottles?"
"No."
"Your mother?"
"No idea."
Claire stood in the living room doorway.
"You were both in the kitchen."
Daniel did not look away from the television.
"Maybe you forgot how many you pumped."
Claire's hands became cold.
"I wrote it down."
"Then maybe you wrote it wrong."
Claire looked at the notebook beside her pump.
Four bottles recorded.
Three bottles in the refrigerator.
She told herself it could be a mistake.
She told herself new mothers forgot things.
She told herself sleep deprivation could distort memory.
That night she pumped another bottle.
Before placing it in the refrigerator, she took a photograph.
May you like
The next morning, it was gone.
And this time Claire knew she had not imagined anything.
