He stared.
Not with love.
Not with concern.
With disappointment.
“Have you looked at yourself lately?” he asked.
I turned around.
“What?”
He shrugged.
“I don’t want to sound rude, but you need to start getting yourself together. Our friends’ wives didn’t stay like this after having babies.”
For a second, I thought he was joking.
He wasn’t.
“Carter, I’m still recovering.”
“Doctors exaggerate,” he said. “You need movement. You’ll get back to your normal shape faster.”
Normal shape.
Those words stayed with me all night.
The next morning, at 5:30, Carter turned on the bedroom light.
Noah had finally fallen asleep after crying most of the night.
“Get up,” Carter said.
“What happened?”
“You’re going running.”
I stared at him.
“I can’t.”
He pulled my sneakers from the closet and dropped them beside the bed.
“You can. You just don’t want to.”
