So when we brought our daughter home the next afternoon, and Max suddenly wouldn’t go near the nursery, I figured maybe reality had finally caught up with him. I was worn out, sore, leaking milk through my bra, and running on maybe two hours of sleep.
Daniel carried the baby upstairs in her car seat.
I followed behind with the diaper bag hanging off one shoulder and my overnight bag dragging against the carpet. Max trailed after us until we reached the nursery door.
Then he stopped.
Just stopped.
He stood there with one hand on the doorframe, staring into the crib after Daniel set the baby down. His expression changed in a way I’d never seen before. He went pale. His mouth fell open. His eyes went wide, but not with wonder.
With fear.
He took one step back.
Then another.
“Max?” I said. “Honey, what is it?”
