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By spoonchicken · Posted
I’ve banned SIX mommy scammers this morning! Everyone stay vigilant! -
By jblackbean2 · Posted
Chapter 7 Louise’s expression shifts — not angry, not panicked, but decisive. Something in her posture straightens, as if she’s made a choice in the space of a heartbeat, He worried expression turns into a smile almost sinister. “James,” she says quietly, “come here.” My feet move before my brain catches up. She steps aside from the pram, her hand resting lightly on the handle. “Hold onto this,” she says. I blink. “Louise—” “Please.” Her voice isn’t sharp. It’s steady. Firm. The kind of tone she uses when she’s trying to keep something fragile from shattering. I wrap my hands around the pram handle. The metal is cool under my palms. The weight of it grounds me in a way I didn’t expect. Louise watches me for a moment, her eyes softening just slightly. Emma adjusts her bag on her shoulder and nods toward the street. “Let’s walk.” M steps back, giving space, understanding she’s no longer the centre of this moment. Louise takes the lead, walking beside me, Emma on the other side. The three of us move slowly down the pavement, the pram rolling smoothly between my hands. The Nappy beneath my clothes shifts with each step — a quiet reminder of everything I’ve been hiding. But now, walking beside Louise, it feels different. Not shameful. Not secret. Just… part of the truth. Louise keeps her voice low. “You should have told me you were struggling.” I swallow hard. “I didn’t know how.” “You don’t have to know how,” she says. “You just have to talk to me.” The words hit deeper than I expect. I grip the pram a little tighter. Emma glances over, her tone lighter but edged with something knowing. “You’re not the only adult who’s ever needed a break from being an adult, James.” Louise shoots her a look. “Em—” “What?” Emma shrugs. “It’s true. Some people need therapy. Some need space. Some need structure. Some need… different kinds of support.” She nods toward me. “He’s not broken. He’s overwhelmed.” Louise exhales, her shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “I know. I just… wish he’d told me.” We turn onto our street. The familiar houses line up like silent witnesses. The pram wheels click softly over the pavement cracks. Louise slows as we approach the house. “We’ll figure this out,” she says quietly. “Together.” I nod, throat tight. Emma stops beside us, looking at the pram, then at me, then at Louise. A small, sly smile tugs at the corner of her mouth — not cruel, but teasing in that way only a close friend can get away with. “Well,” she says, “we’d better get inside. It’s nearly feeding time…” Louise rolls her eyes. “Emma.” “…and definitely almost naptime,” Emma finishes, her grin widening. My face burns. Louise gives her a half‑hearted swat on the arm, but even she can’t hide the tiny smile tugging at her lips. And somehow — impossibly — the tension eases just a little. Not gone. Not fixed. But softened. Like maybe this isn’t the end of everything. Maybe it’s the beginning of something honest. We reach the front door, and Louise unlocks it with a quiet click. She steps inside first, then turns back to me, her expression soft but firm. “Bring the pram in, James.” I do as she asks. The wheels bump gently over the threshold, and the house feels different — smaller, heavier, like the walls know something has changed. I look down and can see the baby in there fast asleep. Louise closes the door behind us. She doesn’t raise her voice. She doesn’t cry. She just stands there for a moment, looking at me with a mixture of worry and determination. Emma steps in after us, setting her shopping bags down by the radiator. She glances between us, reading the tension with the ease of someone who’s been in enough messy situations to recognise the shape of one. Louise exhales slowly. “I don’t know where to start,” she admits. “I feel like I’ve missed something important. Something big.” My chest tightens. “Louise, I—” She lifts a hand gently. “Not yet. I need a minute.” I nod, swallowing hard. Emma moves closer, her tone calm but purposeful. “Lou, you don’t have to figure this out alone.” Louise gives a small, humourless laugh. “I don’t even know what ‘this’ is.” Emma nods toward the pram — toward me holding it. “Well… you’re going to need help. If James is overwhelmed, and you’re trying to support him, and you’re thinking about babies and the future… that’s a lot for one person.” Louise looks at her, startled. “Emma, I wasn’t—” “You were,” Emma says gently. “You’ve been broody for months. And now you’ve just found out your husband is drowning in stress he didn’t know how to tell you about and wants to be a baby.” Louise’s eyes flick to me again, softening with something like guilt. Emma continues, her voice steady. “I’ve got a baby. I know the routines. I know the signs. I know how to manage someone who’s overwhelmed and someone who’s learning. And you…” She touches Louise’s arm. “You’re going to need teaching if you want to support him properly.” Louise blinks. “Teaching?” Emma nods. “Yes. Because caring for someone who’s struggling — really struggling — is a skill. And you’re going to need support too.” I feel heat rise in my face. Embarrassment. Relief. Fear. All tangled together. Louise looks at me, then at Emma, then back at me again. “So you’re saying,” she murmurs, “that I need to learn how to look after… a baby?” Emma gives a small, knowing smile. “Two, actually.” Louise’s eyebrows lift. “Two?” Emma nods toward the pram… then toward me. “Yours,” she says softly, “and mine.” The words land like a stone dropped into deep water — ripples spreading through the room, through Louise, through me. Louise doesn’t laugh. She doesn’t scold. She just looks at me with a new kind of understanding — tentative, fragile, but real. And for the first time, I don’t look away. Emma’s baby is still asleep in the pushchair, tiny breaths rising and falling under the blanket. The house is quiet except for the soft tick of the hallway clock. Louise stands beside me, tense but trying to stay composed. Emma straightens up, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. There’s a steadiness in her expression — not judgment, not shock, just a kind of quiet competence that makes the room feel less volatile. “Alright,” she says, her voice low but firm. “We need to understand what’s actually going on. And the best place to start is with whatever James was hiding.” My stomach drops. Louise looks at her sharply. “Emma—” But Emma lifts a hand. “Lou, you said yourself you feel like you’ve been in the dark. And James…” She turns to me, her tone softening. “You’ve been carrying something heavy. We’re not here to shame you. We’re here to understand.” Before I can respond, Emma steps closer and gently takes my hand. It’s not romantic. It’s not patronising. It’s grounding — the way a mother grabs a toddlers hand when they first start to walk. “Come on,” she says quietly. “Let’s go look at what was on your laptop Baby.” My throat tightens. “Emma, I don’t—” “It’s alright,” she says. “You don’t have to explain everything at once. Just show us. Let us see what you were dealing with.” Louise hesitates, torn between fear and curiosity. Then she nods, her voice barely above a whisper. “I need to know, James.” The words hit me harder than anything else today. Emma gives my hand a reassuring squeeze and starts walking toward the hallway. I follow because I don’t know what else to do. Louise walks behind us, her footsteps slow, cautious, but determined. We reach the office door. Emma pauses, glancing back at Louise with a small, wry smile — the kind she uses when she’s trying to lighten a heavy moment. “Well,” she murmurs, nodding toward the pushchair in the hall, “the baby’s asleep… and it’s nearly feeding time anyway.” Louise shoots her a look. “Emma.” Emma shrugs, unbothered. “What? Might as well deal with all the babies in the house at once.” My face burns. Louise sighs — but there’s a tiny, reluctant smile tugging at her mouth. And somehow, that tiny smile keeps me standing. Emma pushes the office door open. “Alright,” she says gently. “Let’s see what you were so afraid to show us.” And I step inside, heart pounding, knowing there’s no going back now. -
Yeah researching how this stuff works was both interesting and... not. 🫠😅 Like, PHEW there's a lot to it 😵💫 This stretch of Charlie is giving me this kinda vibe 🤭 : -
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I'm not gonna lie (and I may have said this somewhere else), I thought of you SO MUCH while writing this 😆 So I am SO GLAD you like it!! 💕 HEHEHE 🤣 Thank you SO MUCH!!! 💜 🥰 Gosh that's such a wonderful compliment, thank yoooou ☺️💕 But the real question here is.... can that thirst truly ever be satisfied?? 😆 💜
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