She’d be spoiling him rotten.”
“She kept all my baby blankets. She couldn’t wait for grandkids.” He swallowed hard.
I thought we were having a moment, but that night, when the sun went down, Caleb went right back to being the intense, obsessive man that fatherhood had transformed him into.
When I reached for Jeremy to give him a final snuggle, Caleb’s grip on the baby tightened.
“Bedtime is my thing, okay?” he snapped.
The door shut, and the lock clicked.
Why was he doing this? Was I not a good enough mother?
I started to spiral.
You know how it is when you’re sleep-deprived; your brain starts inventing all kinds of scenarios.
I wondered if he was hiding something. I dismissed the thought a moment later, never realizing how close I’d come to uncovering the truth behind his strange behavior.
One evening, I was in the shower when Jeremy let out a full-blown, frantic bawl.
I threw on a towel and sprinted down the hall.
I grabbed the nursery doorhandle.
The door wouldn’t open.
“Caleb?” I knocked hard. “Caleb, let me in!”
There was a long beat of silence.
Then, I heard a strange shuffling sound.
Finally, the lock turned.
Caleb opened the door. He was breathing hard, his shirt was wrinkled, and his hair was standing up on one side.
Jeremy was red-faced and sobbing in his arms.
“What happened?” I demanded, pushing my way inside.
“Nothing,” Caleb said. “He’s just overtired. He’s fine.”
I looked at my son.
Jeremy’s cheeks were wet, and he was gasping for air.
“I’ll take him.” I reached out. My maternal instinct was screaming at me to get the baby away from whatever energy was vibrating off Caleb.
He backed away, turned around, and closed the door in my face.
It became a routine.
Every single night, bedtime meant I stood in the hallway like a stranger.
And every single night, I heard that same shuffling sound before he opened the door to let me back in.
Once, I got desperate.
I pressed my ear to the wood, holding my breath so I wouldn’t miss a thing. I heard a faint crackling.
It sounded like radio static, and then… voices?
They were soft and fuzzy. I couldn’t make out the words.
When Caleb finally opened the door, he looked startled to see me standing there.
The question felt like a slap.
“It’s not about trust, Caleb. I don’t understand you. I don’t know who you are lately.”
He just sighed and walked away.
Every time I tried to confront him, he had an excuse ready.
He’d say, “He settles faster if it’s just me,” or “If you come in, he’ll smell the milk on you and want to nurse, and then we’re back to square one.”
At first, I tried to be understanding.
I blamed the hormones. I blamed my own exhaustion. I told myself that Caleb was just grieving.
His father died back in college, and his mother passed away right after we found out I was pregnant.
Jeremy would never know his grandparents on Caleb’s side. That’s a heavy thing to carry.
Maybe becoming a father without your own parents to guide you does something to your wiring.
But then, my thoughts took a darker turn.
Those voices I’d heard… was he talking to someone else? Was he having an emotional affair?
Maybe he was texting some ex-girlfriend while he was supposed to be rocking our son.
The secrecy was so intense that it felt like betrayal.
One morning, Caleb had to leave for work an hour early.
I was exhausted, but Jeremy was gurgling softly while enjoying some “tummy time,” so I decided to change the crib sheets — a chore Caleb usually insisted on doing himself.
I leaned over to tuck in the corner, and the dirty sheet slid off my shoulder and dropped to the floor.
I bent down to grab it, and that’s when I saw something chilling.
Taped to the underside of the crib frame, hidden in the very back corner, was a smartphone.
My stomach didn’t just drop; it did a slow, agonizing somersault.
I reached back and peeled away the duct tape keeping the phone in place.
It was an older model, a cheap burner-type thing. My hands were shaking so hard I almost dropped it.
I pressed the power button.
It flickered to life.
There was no passcode.
I went straight to the messages. There was only one thread.
I opened it and scrolled to the bottom.
The most recent message was sent at 8:15 p.m. the night before — right when Caleb was locked in the room with Jeremy.
My vision went blurry.
What did you do, Caleb? What could possibly be so bad that I would take our son away?
I started scrolling up, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm in my ears.
I expected to find evidence of another woman, or some horrible secret, but as I read, I realized these messages weren’t about cheating.
They were all about Jeremy.
I stared at the number at the top of the screen.
I recognized it now.
Caleb was texting confessions to a dead woman.
That night, when Caleb went into the nursery with Jeremy, I waited outside the door.
I heard the shuffling — the sound of him moving the chair to reach the phone under the crib. Five minutes later, I knocked.
I heard the shuffling again. The lock turned.
“I told you—”
I stepped inside and walked straight to the crib.
“Caleb, we need to talk,” I said as I reached under the crib and removed the phone.
The color drained from his face so fast I thought he might faint.
The phone was still turned on.
I opened the message thread and played the first voice memo.
“He won’t settle, Mom,” Caleb’s voice whispered through the speaker. “He prefers her. I can tell.
When I hold him, he looks at me like I’m a stranger. I’m trying… I’m trying so hard.”
I played another.
“I snapped today. I didn’t yell, but I said, ‘Can you just be quiet for one second?’ in this mean, scary voice.”
Then another. “I left him crying in the crib for three minutes today because I felt like I was going to explode.
You always told me to do that if it got overwhelming. But I felt like I abandoned him.”
He slumped against the changing table. “Please don’t take him away from me.
I swear to God, I would never hurt him.”
“I know you wouldn’t,” I said. “Caleb, look at me; you’re overwhelmed. All good parents feel that way sometimes.
Do you think I haven’t cried in the shower because I didn’t know how to make him stop crying?”
A single sob escaped him, and he shook his head.
“When he cries with me, I feel like he knows I’m not enough. I wanted bedtime to be mine.
I wanted one thing I could do without you. I thought if it were just us, he’d eventually love me as much as he loves you.”
Jeremy started to fuss, sensing the tension.
“Normal fathers don’t text their dead moms,” Caleb said.
“Normal fathers miss their mothers,” I countered. “Especially when they’re trying to figure out how to be a parent themselves.”
His eyes filled up again, and this time, he let the tears fall.
“I didn’t know how to tell you I’m not good at this. I wanted to be the guy who has it all together. The safe guy.”
“You’re learning,” I said.
“Just like I am. We’re both rookies, Caleb.”
I set the phone on the dresser.
“No more hiding,” I told him. “From now on, we’re a team.
And tomorrow, we’re going to call a therapist. No arguments.”
He looked at me, searching my face for any sign of judgment or lingering fear. “You really don’t think I’m a bad father?”
“I think you’re a very tired one who misses his mom.” I leaned in and kissed his forehead.
“Now, let’s get this baby off to sleep together.”
Caleb nodded. He offered me the armchair, and for the first time, we got Jeremy to sleep together.
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