They Came Back To No Home Chapter 03

They Came Back To No Home Chapter 03

At midnight, Peyton called on video.

I had just finished settling Tanya after she’d spit up—messy hair, stained shirt, exhausted.

It rang for a long time before I finally answered.

He was barely holding back his temper.

“I just took my parents on a trip. Melody, are you really going to make a scene over this?”

I didn’t answer.

I sent the screenshots over one by one.

The family group chat.

Rylie’s messages.

My own voice came out flat, no tremor at all.

“I’m stuck in postpartum recovery, while you took your childhood friend and her parents on a European vacation. Don’t you think I have a right to be upset?”

He clicked through them one by one, his breathing visibly stalling for a second.

Then he bristled.

“My mom’s in her fifties. She’s never been abroad in her whole life.”

“Rylie’s parents just retired, too. They came along to join the fun. What’s wrong with that?”

“I hired the best nanny for you. I just wanted to make my parents happy—is that so wrong?”

“My parents treat you like their own daughter. We’re family. Can’t you be a little more understanding?”

Understanding.

For three years, the word he used most with me was “understanding.”

I had been married to him for three years.

When we got married, he promised to buy me a car.

But then Rylie’s dad had to have heart surgery, so the money got lent to them instead. They’ve never paid it back.

He promised me a honeymoon in the Maldives.

Later, it changed to Bali.

Then to Miami.

In the end, Rylie’s whole family went to Miami, and he paid for their flight tickets.

When I was eight months pregnant, I gained more than forty pounds and suffered severe pelvic pain that made it impossible to walk.

He came home from work one evening and the first thing out of his mouth was, “Rylie’s mom has a bad back. I’m taking her to see a specialist tomorrow.”

“Be understanding, Melody.”

He said it every single time.

I’d heard it for three years.

The night wind blew in, puffing up the curtains.

I gripped my phone, my voice coming out hoarse.

“Peyton, tell me, what does ‘understanding’ mean?”

“You took your paternity leave, yet brought another woman’s parents abroad while leaving me at home to take care of our newborn daughter. That’s your version of understanding?”

The line went quiet—a long, heavy silence.

He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, a hand with painted nails reached into the frame and snatched the phone away.

Rylie’s face shoved into the camera, smiling sweetly.

“Melody, still up at this hour? Don’t you know who Peyton really cares about by now? What’s the point of getting jealous?”

She turned the camera.

Cathleen’s voice drifted over from nearby. “Now that’s what I call understanding—Rylie’s one of us.”

Rylie turned the camera back to herself, her smile growing even wider.

“Melody, just focus on your recovery. We didn’t bring you along because it was really inconvenient for you, you know?”

“It’s a fifteenday trip—we’ll be home in a week. Peyton will have all the time in the world for you and the baby then.”

I stared at the screen.

My fingernails dug into my palms, slowly sinking into the flesh.

Then, I smiled.

“Fine. I’ll wait for you to come back.”

I hung up the video call.

I walked into the walk-in closet.

I swept all of Peyton’s belongings into bags—clothes, certificates, the whole lot.

Folded nothing, sorted nothing.

I dragged the bags to the front door and lined them up in a row—like taking out the trash.

Three days later, Otis called me.

“Ms. Walsh, a cash buyer saw the photos and loves the place. Can we schedule a showing tomorrow morning at ten?”

I said yes.