Chapter 9: The Text From Her Kitchen
I hadn't slept. Not really. I'd dozed upright against the headboard with him on my chest, his little breaths hot against my collarbone, waking every forty minutes to check his forehead with the back of my hand.
The apartment was quiet in that washed-out morning way. Ethan had left for work at seven, his boots soft on the floor so he wouldn't wake us. He'd kissed the top of my head and said he'd keep his phone on. The baby was finally asleep in the bassinet by the window, and I was standing at the kitchen counter in my sweatpants, warming a bottle I didn't need yet, when my phone lit up.
It was Diane.
Three photos came through one after another. Her nursery. Not ours. The one at her house with the cream walls and the white crib I'd never wanted to use, now fully made up. A stack of folded blankets. A mobile hung over the mattress. A changing table stocked with diapers, wipes, cream, all lined up like merchandise.
Then a text underneath: Got the room ready in case you need a break. Spoke to Dr. Patel this morning. She said that clinic is being overly cautious. Babies run warm. No need to isolate him from family who loves him.
I read it twice. My hand tightened around the phone. Dr. Patel wasn't our pediatrician. She was Diane's friend from the charity board, the one who'd done Botox in the same office.
I typed, then erased, then typed again. Our pediatrician said no visitors for 48 hours. We're following her plan.
Three dots appeared. Then: Honey, I'm not a visitor. I'm his grandmother. That infection guidance is for strangers.
Before I could answer, the buzzer went off.
I wasn't expecting anyone. I left the phone on the counter and walked to the door with the baby monitor in my hand, my sock feet silent on the laminate. Through the peephole I saw Diane in the hallway holding two glass casserole dishes stacked, lids on, a tote bag hanging from her shoulder. Same burgundy dress from the kitchen two days before, gray hair pulled back smooth.
I opened the door two inches, my shoulder against it.
"Maya," she said, and smiled. It didn't reach her eyes. "I brought food so you don't have to cook. Chicken and rice. And a breakfast strata. You must be exhausted."
The hallway smelled like her perfume and hot food. Behind me, the baby made a small sound in the bassinet and I felt my whole body turn toward it, even though I didn't move.
"Thank you," I said. "You can leave them there."
She lifted the dishes a little, like an offering. "Let me bring them in. They’re heavy. And I want to hold him for just a minute. I haven't held him since the kitchen."
I kept my hand on the edge of the door. My heart was beating so hard I could feel it in my throat.
"We're on isolation," I said. My voice was quiet and I hated that it shook. "The doctor said no visitors. No holding. No one outside our household until his recheck. It's written on the discharge sheet."
Diane tilted her head. Her smile thinned.
"That's for sick people coming in from outside, Maya. I'm not sick. I've been home. Dr. Patel said fresh air and family is good for them. That clinic scared you. They always over-prescribe worry to new mothers."
"He had a fever," I said. "They said it's an early infection. I can't risk it."
"And I spoke to a real pediatrician of thirty years," she said. Her voice stayed soft, but her eyes went hard. "She laughed when I told her they told you to isolate a newborn from his own grandmother. You’re keeping him from people who can help you."
She shifted her weight and tried to step forward. I didn't move. The door stayed where it was, barely open enough for air.
"No," I said. It came out shorter than I meant. "Not today. Doctor's orders."
For a second neither of us moved. I watched her jaw tighten, that stern look from the doorway in her kitchen coming back. Then she set the casseroles down on the hallway floor with a deliberate, gentle clink.
"Fine," she said. "I'll leave them here. Don't let them get cold." She straightened and looked past me into the apartment, as if she could see the bassinet from there. "You'll learn you can't do this alone."
She turned and walked toward the elevator, tote bag bumping against her hip, not looking back.
I closed the door and locked both locks. My hands were shaking. The baby was still asleep, but I picked up the monitor anyway and held it to my chest.
My phone buzzed on the counter.
It wasn't for me. It was Ethan's name on the preview because my phone was still mirroring his old iCloud somehow, or because Diane had added me to a group text without asking. I saw the start of it before it faded.
May you like
Diane: Ethan, I went by with food. Maya wouldn't let me in or let me hold the baby. She says doctor said no family. I'm worried she's isolating him...
I sat down on the floor with my back against the door, the monitor light blinking green next to me. The casseroles were out in the hall getting cold, and my phone was quiet again, and I was alone defending a plan no one else in his family believed I had the right to make.
