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A baby is supposed to be a miracle, the love of two partners coming together to grow a tiny human being. A baby deserves to be loved, to be cherished, to be wanted. The uncertainty of Julian's reaction still hangs over me like a dark cloud, dampening any joy I might feel about carrying his child. When I do eventually tell Julian, I want him to be happy about it.
After a few minutes, Julian reappears from the house and approaches the car. Even from a distance I can see the weight on his shoulders, the tension in his muscles. Each day is growing more difficult as we slowly trudge through the surrounding chaos toward some kind of answer. It feels like everything is building up, dangerously close to reaching a breaking point.
When Julian slides back into the driver's seat, I reach for his hand again, holding it tightly in both of mine. "Everything's going to be okay, Julian. We'll handle whatever comes our way," I say, though the words sound slightly hollow even to my own ears.
He nods, managing a strained smile. "Thanks, Nat. I really appreciate you being here today."
Just as Julian turns the key, a sudden shriek from inside stops us dead in our tracks. My heart leaps into my throat as I throw open the door, dread flooding through me. Julian is already out of the car, rushing toward the house with impossible speed.
Instinct propels me forward, following closely behind him. We find Aria in the living room, standing on a chair, her face a mask of horror. A young woman—whom I assume to be the sitter—flies into the room at that moment, her face white with a panic that matches my own.
"There’s a spider! A big one!" Aria cries out, pointing to a corner of the room.
Relief washes over me, and I press a hand to my chest, trying to steady my heart. It was just a spider. Aria is safe. Everything is okay.
Before the sitter can say anything, Julian rushes to Aria side, scooping her into his arms to comfort her. His own relief is palpable, yet I can see the incident has rattled him, the strain of his broader worries making even a small scare like this feel monumental.
"Okay. I’ll get rid of it," Julian says gently, setting her down and grabbing a piece of paper to usher the intruder out.
“Julian, I'm so sorry,” the young woman stammers, visibly shaking. “I was just in the bathroom, I didn’t mean to leave her alone or anything like that.” She continues to ramble apologies while Julian remains quiet, methodically taking care of the spider.
For a moment, I'm worried Julian might snap and take his frustrations out on the sitter, but he remains in control of himself. He soothes Aria tenderly, and eventually reassures the sitter that everything is okay, and she doesn't need to beat herself up over something as mundane as a spider.
As hard as he's trying to manage it, this incident has highlighted the stress under which Julian is operating daily. I can't imagine how difficult it must be for him to have to manage his fears and maintain his composure in front of Aria all the time. How long can he keep this up? How much can he handle before the stress becomes too much, and something worse than just an argument results?
Aria, now safely on the ground, rushes to me and clings to my leg, her earlier terror replaced by a residual shiver. I kneel down to her level, brushing a strand of curls from her face, and offer a comforting smile. "All safe now, Aria. No more spiders to worry about," I reassure her, my tone light, trying to make her smile.
Julian folds his arms, his face drawn tight with stress. Watching Aria so close to tears over a mere spider seems to have struck a deeper chord in him. "That's it," he declares, his voice firm with resolve but edged with fatigue. "I'm not letting Aria out of my sight until all this is resolved."
I straighten up, surprised by the intensity of his declaration. "That's a bit of an overreaction, don't you think? It was just a spider."
He turns to me, his eyes sharp, a hint of frustration flickering through them. "Sure, this time. But next time? It could be serious."
The sitter's gaze shifts back and forth between me and Julian. Sensing the rising tension, she gently pulls Aria from my leg and leads her out of the room.
“Julian,” I begin, “I can understand that you're worried about Aria, but?—"
“No, you don't understand, Natalie. You don’t have kids—you don't get it.”
His words sting, more than I expect. He’s right—I don’t have children, at least, not out in the open where everyone can see. The reminder of my pregnancy fuels me with indignation.
I feel a rush of anger at his assumption, at the ease with which he dismisses my capacity to care and worry. "Just because I don't have children doesn't mean I can't understand the instinct to protect someone," I snap back, my voice harsher than intended.
Julian's expression tightens, his jaw setting stubbornly. He looks like he wants to argue more, to defend his stance, but he holds back, perhaps recognizing the volatility of the moment.
I take a deep breath, forcing myself to step back from the edge of this escalating argument. It's not the time or place, and certainly not with Aria here. Julian mirrors me, taking a breath of his own and softening slightly. He doesn't apologize or continue the argument, and neither do I.
Instead, we let the moment pass, a silent acknowledgment that some battles aren't worth fighting, not when they risk the peace of the child he’s striving to protect.
The living room is momentarily hushed, the air still uncomfortably thick. I don't want the morning to end like this. I'm determined to bridge the gap, to soften the harshness of our last exchange.
I step closer to Julian, closing the distance with a purposeful yet gentle demeanor. As I reach him, I pause, looking up into his eyes. There's a darkness in them, a deep burden he continues to carry alone. Without a word, I rise onto my toes and press my lips to his in a soft kiss. It's a silent plea for understanding, a gesture of empathy.
Pulling back slightly, I hold his gaze. "I know I can't understand exactly what you feel," I say softly, my voice firm yet tender, "but I know you're worried about Aria, and I get that. Not every disagreement has to escalate into a fight." My hands find his, squeezing them lightly to emphasize my sincerity.
He watches me, still guarded, though I can see his internal struggle as he tries to open up, to trust me. "I know. It's just that when it comes to Aria’s safety, I can't help but think the worst. I want to protect her from everything."
"I know you do," I respond, my voice soothing. "And you're doing an incredible job. You can't let this situation make you paranoid. It’s not good for you, and it’s not good for her either. She needs the freedom to be a child, even with all this going on."
