Invisible String

46

Travis gently brushed my hair away from my face and smiled softly. “We’ve got this, Tay. One step at a time.”

I nodded, trying to steady my breath. “I just… don’t know where to start sometimes. It’s all so new.”

He kissed my forehead. “We’ll figure it out together. You’re not alone.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, I allowed myself to lean into that reassurance. Because no matter how unsure I felt, this little guy needed us—and we were ready to learn, love, and grow with him.

Travis wraps an arm around my waist and slowly helps me up from the bed. Everything aches. My legs are shaky, and I’m still in that weird, raw space where my body doesn’t quite feel like mine anymore. But God, I need this. A real shower. Not a rushed rinse-off. Not baby wipes. An actual, warm, cleansing shower.

“You sure you’re okay to stand?” he asks softly, his eyes scanning my face.

I nod, even though I’m not totally sure. “I’ll feel better once I’m in there. I promise.”

He doesn’t argue. Just stays close, his big, steady hand supporting me as we make our way to the bathroom. I glance back at the bassinet by the bed, where our baby boy is sleeping—finally. His tiny chest rises and falls, wrapped up in his yellow sleeper, face so peaceful it almost doesn’t feel real.

I stop at the door. “Is he okay?”

Travis leans over to peek in. “Still out cold,” he says, voice low and gentle. “I’ll keep watch.”

I step inside the bathroom slowly. Everything feels so… fragile. The postpartum belly, the soreness, the tenderness everywhere. But when the steam starts rising and the water hits my skin, I close my eyes and let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. It feels like washing off layers of exhaustion, of labor, of pain I never thought I could endure. It feels like slowly coming back to myself.

Through the cracked door, I hear Travis softly talking. He’s humming now—some lullaby I don’t even recognize—and I know he’s rocking the bassinet with one foot, multitasking like a champ. My heart clenches in the best way. He’s already such a good dad.

“You good in there?” he calls.

“Yeah,” I answer, voice catching a little. “I’m more than good.”

I stay under the water just a little longer, letting it run over my hair and down my back. My body may be sore and stretched and unfamiliar, but this moment—this quiet moment with Travis on the other side of the door and our baby boy safe in his care—makes it all worth it.

When I finally turn the water off, I already feel a little lighter—physically and emotionally. My body’s still aching and shaky, but at least I feel clean. I crack the shower door open and call softly, “Travis?”

He’s already there, holding a big fluffy towel, his face full of concern and care. He helps me step out, steadying me with both hands, and wraps the towel gently around me.

Then he glances into the shower.

His face changes instantly. His eyes go wide, and he swallows hard, glancing at the streaks of blood swirling at the bottom of the tub, mixing with the water as it slowly drains.

“Is that—” he starts, then looks back at me, brows drawn tight. “Babe… is that normal?”

I exhale slowly, leaning a little more of my weight on him. “Yeah,” I say, though even hearing it out loud feels surreal. “It’s normal. It’s just the bleeding. Postpartum stuff. They told me it could be heavy for a while.”