It was a PDF from a family-law attorney named Dana Morales.
The subject line was simple: Proposed Temporary Parenting and Household Agreement.
Brandon stayed silent long enough that I could hear the refrigerator humming through his phone.
Finally, he said, “You called a lawyer?”
“Yes.”
“Because I went fishing?”
“No, Brandon. Because I realized the fishing trip wasn’t the problem.”
Not promises made during an argument.
Not, “I’ll help more.”
Not, “Just tell me what needs doing.”
Specific responsibilities with names beside them.
Brandon reached the second page.
“This is ridiculous.”
“Which part?”
“I work.”
“So do I.”
“You’re on maternity leave.”
I actually closed my eyes when he said it.
For months, Brandon had treated maternity leave like an extended vacation interrupted by babies.
He never said it quite that plainly before.
“Read the attached log,” I told him.
“I saw your little list.”
“No. You saw four days.”
