Page 135 of Say My Name

“Maya can absorb some of the day-to-day functions, but she shouldn’t be expected to perform two jobs. I’ll need to redistribute the rest across the finance team and identify someone who can handle executive decisions while I’m unavailable.”

“You’ll be unavailable for as long as you need.”

Her gaze lifts to mine. “I know.”

Something in my chest unknots. The word is enough.

Then she scrolls.

The next section is labeled Residential Schedule.

I set my water down. “What’s that?”

“Custody logistics.”

The word choice is hers. Clinical. Final. It’s a clean, hard jab, and it lands. We agreed to co-parent. We spent eleven pages making certain neither of us could use employment, money, or biology to take this child from the other. None of this is new.

The two columns are.

Her address fills the left side. Mine fills the right.

“I’ve been looking at the first year,” she says, slipping into the calm, precise tone she uses when presenting a financial model. “Especially the first few months. We can’t treat custody the same way we would when the baby is older. We’ll need to account for feeding, sleep, recovery, and that constant transitions won’t be practical.”

She moves through the document, explaining stages and adjustments. She has considered where the baby sleeps, how we divide weekdays and weekends, and when overnight stays at my home become realistic.

It’s careful. Fair. Designed to give both of us equal standing.

It’s also a future in which I leave after dinner.

“I’ll set up the nursery here first,” she continues. “You can do the same at your place, but we probably won’t need to duplicate everything immediately. A bassinet would make more sense until overnight visits begin.”

“Visits.”

Her fingers pause over the trackpad. “Overnights.”

“With me.”

“Yes.”

“At my house.”

“That’s where you live.”

I study her face. She isn’t trying to hurt me. Elena believes she is doing what she always does: taking an uncertain future and forcing it into columns until nothing can surprise her.

Except she isn’t planning for uncertainty. She’s planning for my absence.

After the unscheduled nights. After the appointments and the Tuesday she texted because she wanted me there. After she curled into me and said my name like it belonged to her.

She has taken everything between us and built a future that erases it.

“Is something wrong?” she asks.

I look at the spreadsheet again. “Where are you in this plan?”

Her brow creases. “Here.”

“And I’m there.”