He moved around the apartment with bottles, diapers, blankets, and the permanently exhausted expression of a man who had absolutely no idea what he was doing.
He barely slept.
The following morning he called work.
“I need some time off.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
Two weeks became a month. Eventually, Noah negotiated fewer working hours.
His savings began disappearing.
Everything came in threes.
Formula.
Diapers.
Clothes.
Doctor visits.
Emergencies.
But the money frightened him less than the possibility of failing.
What if he missed something important?
What if one of them became sick and he didn’t know what to do?
What if he wasn’t enough?
Late at night, when all three girls were finally asleep, Noah sometimes sat beside their cribs and cried quietly.
Then he would look at them and whisper the same words.
“I’m still here.”
Night after night, he repeated them.
Eventually, those four words became a promise.
