By Monday, Della had settled into the guest room, and Daniel had settled into acting like a man on vacation.

He came home from work and sat on the couch while Della cooked. He left his plate on the table and Della cleared it. He said, “Thanks, Mom,” and went back to his phone. Every time, Della smiled sweetly and said, “Of course, sweetheart,” and every time, she looked at me over his head and winked.

Meanwhile, I spent my evenings in the guest room with the door closed, arranging supplies.

Della sat on the bed watching me unpack shopping bags. A portable crib still in its box. A life-size baby doll from a medical training supply company my office worked with, the kind nursing students practiced on. Newborn diapers. A mountain of tiny clothes. Two laundry baskets. A bottle-warmer. A clipboard.

“What should I tell my sons?” Della asked. “Michael and Nathan?”

“Family dinner Saturday,” I said. “Tell them to bring Rachel and Claire.”

“You’re frighteningly organized.”

I smiled. “Before I married Daniel, I used to plan parties for all my friends. Birthdays. Baby showers. Surprise anniversaries. They called me the queen of surprises.”

“What happened?”

I thought about it. “I just got tired.”

Della sighed. “Daniel wasn’t always like this, you know.”

“No,” I said. “He used to notice when I needed help. When we were dating, he used to drive across town at midnight if I had a flat tire. Then he started comparing himself to his brothers.”

Michael was a regional director at a logistics company. Nathan was a partner at an architecture firm. They both had big houses in the suburbs, kids in good schools, wives who smiled in every family photo. Daniel was the youngest, the one who’d bounced between jobs, the one who’d gone freelance two years ago because his last company downsized.

“When I got pregnant,” I said, “he started taking every extra project he could find. He started bragging to everyone about providing for me. As if that was the only thing that mattered.”

“Neither of his brothers ever asked him to compete,” Della said.

“I know. But I don’t think he knows that.”

I pulled out the last item from the bag. A blue folder. I opened it and showed her what was inside.

The hospital pre-registration form, half filled out, waiting for Daniel’s signature. Our health insurance card, with a sticky note on it that said “Add baby within 30 days of birth.” Daniel’s employer-sponsored life insurance enrollment form from his freelance agency’s benefits portal, printed out, with the beneficiary section completely blank.

“He enrolled in a $500,000 policy last spring,” I said quietly. “He told everyone at Easter that he’d taken care of us. But I checked the portal last week. He never named a beneficiary. If something happened to him, it would go to his estate. Into probate. Just like Frank.”

Della put her hand over her mouth.

“And we don’t have wills,” I said. “Either of us. If something happened to both of us, there’s no paper anywhere that says who would raise our daughter.”

Della looked at me for a long moment. She knew where I’d grown up. She knew about my grandmother.

“Oh, honey,” she whispered.

“I’m not going to lecture him,” I said, closing the folder. “I’m just going to put it on a chair. And let him look at it.”

That evening, I brought up Saturday at dinner. Della had made pot roast. Daniel was on his second helping.

“Your mom invited Michael and Nathan for dinner this Saturday,” I said. “With Rachel and Claire.”

Daniel immediately brightened. “Seriously? Both of them?”

“Both of them.”

“Great!” He put down his fork. “I can tell them how we solved the whole baby situation. Mom moving in, everything running smoothly. Michael’s always going on about how hard it was when their first was born. I’ll show him how it’s done.”

I smiled. “Oh, you’ll definitely have something to tell them.”

He didn’t notice anything in my voice. He went back to his pot roast.

Across the table, Della dabbed her mouth with her napkin to hide her smile.

The rest of the week passed slowly. On Wednesday, I went to my last prenatal class alone. The instructor, a cheerful nurse named Bev, asked where my husband was. I said he was working. She gave me the same look she’d given me for six weeks, sympathetic and a little sad.

“He’s missing the infant CPR module,” she said. “That’s the most important one.”

“I’ll teach him,” I said.

On Thursday, I met with Hannah, the HR coordinator at my office, to sign the last of my maternity leave paperwork. Twelve weeks of job-protected leave. Six weeks of short-term disability at sixty percent of my salary. After that, unpaid.

“Do you have enough saved to cover the gap?” Hannah asked kindly, sliding the forms across her desk.

I thought about the $8,400 in the baby fund. About the $3,239 on the credit card at nineteen percent. About Daniel’s freelance income, which came in big chunks some months and nothing at all in others.

“We’ll be fine,” I said. I wasn’t sure it was true.

On Friday night, Daniel came home excited. “I think I’m getting the Hendricks project,” he said. “It’s a big one, Maren. Six months. Twenty-two thousand dollars.”

“That’s wonderful,” I said, and I meant it.

“It’s a lot of hours, though. Evenings. Probably some weekends.”

“When does it start?”

“Probably right around your due date.”

I looked at him. He was already pulling out his phone, already texting someone about it.

He didn’t even realize what he’d just said.

Della, standing at the sink, set down the dish she was drying very carefully.

“Saturday,” she murmured to me later, as we turned out the kitchen lights. “Tomorrow, honey.”

“Tomorrow,” I said.

Saturday arrived cold and bright.

Della and I spent the afternoon cooking together, roast chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans with almonds, and her famous apple crumble. Daniel spent the afternoon watching football. Twice he wandered into the kitchen to steal a piece of chicken skin, and twice Della slapped his hand.

At six o’clock, the doorbell rang.

Michael and Rachel came first, carrying a bottle of wine and a bouquet of sunflowers. Michael was the oldest, tall and broad-shouldered like Frank in the photograph, with gray creeping into his hair. Rachel was small and warm, with a laugh you could hear across a room.

Nathan and Claire arrived ten minutes later. Nathan was the middle brother, quieter, with glasses and an architect’s careful hands. Claire hugged me hard and put her hand on my belly.

“Look at you,” she said. “Any day now.”

“Twenty-six days,” I said. “But who’s counting.”

Daniel was delighted to have an audience. He poured the wine. He told everybody about the Hendricks project before they’d even sat down. He showed off the new Bugaboo stroller standing in the hallway.

“Same as yours, Mike,” he said proudly.

Michael glanced at it. “Nice. Honestly, we barely used ours. Rachel liked the cheap umbrella one better.”

Daniel’s smile flickered just slightly.

Halfway through dinner, Daniel raised his glass and tapped it with his fork.

“So,” he said. “I wanted to share something. I’ve finally figured out how to balance everything.”

Michael smiled. “Yeah? How?”

“Mom’s moving in.” Daniel gestured toward Della with his glass like he was presenting a prize. “She’ll manage the house. Maren will handle the baby. And I can concentrate on providing. It’s the perfect system.”

There was a short silence.

Rachel frowned. “Does Maren get any time off?”

“Mom’s helping.”

“Helping whom?” Claire asked.

Daniel opened his mouth.

Before he could answer, I put my napkin down and stood up, one hand pressed to the small of my back.

“Actually,” I said, “I prepared something special for tonight.”

Daniel grinned. “There’s my old Maren! I was wondering when you’d start being fun again.”

“You’re right,” I said. “I’m finally becoming myself again.”

I met his eyes across the table.

“Now it’s your turn to become the man I married.”

His smile faded.