Chapter 47 - The Nesting
As the due date approached, my nesting instinct kicked into overdrive.
But it wasn't just about painting the nursery or buying tiny socks. My PTSD manifested in a frantic need to ensure the house was structurally impenetrable.
I drove Mark crazy, asking him to double-check the smoke detectors, the foundation, the roof, and the window locks.
"Maya," Mark laughed one Saturday, covered in dust from inspecting the attic joists for the third time. "I am an architect. I promise you, this house is solid. A hurricane couldn't knock it down."
"I know," I sighed, embarrassed. "I just need to know he's safe."
Mark climbed down the ladder, wiping his hands.
"He is safe. Because he has you. You are the strongest foundation this family has."
May you like
I smiled, resting my hand on my swollen belly.
I realized then that the trauma would never fully disappear. It was a scar. But scars don't hurt anymore; they just remind you of where you've been.
