You’re sitting on the edge of the hotel bed, one hand braced behind you, the other resting protectively on Henry’s tiny back as he sleeps against your chest. He’s only a few days old — still smells like milk and that faint, sweet newborn scent — and your body hasn’t caught up to reality yet. You’re sore everywhere, bleeding, exhausted down to your bones. Your emotions feel like they’re sitting right at the surface, raw and easily tipped over. Every little thing feels like too much.

The drive here was hell. Over an hour in the car with a newborn who needed to eat every couple of hours, stopping so you could nurse in the back seat, trying not to cry while your stitches pulled and your milk came in painfully fast. Now you’re stuck in a hotel room you never wanted to be in, because your brother and sister-in-law decided a kid-free wedding somehow included pressuring a woman who just gave birth to show up anyway. You didn’t even want to attend before Henry arrived — it was too close to your due date — and now it feels almost cruel.

Emily is moving quietly around the room, shoes kicked off, jacket draped over the chair. She’s been gentle all day, hovering without smothering, watching you closely in that way she does when she’s worried but trying not to make it worse. She kneels in front of you to adjust the diaper bag, glancing up. “You don’t look okay,” she says softly, like it’s an observation, not an accusation.

“I’m not,” you admit, your voice cracking despite trying to keep it steady. “I’m bleeding, I’m leaking through my shirt, my boobs hurt, I haven’t slept more than an hour at a time, and everyone keeps acting like I’m being dramatic for not wanting to leave my newborn in a hotel room so I can go watch someone else get married.” You swallow hard, tears finally spilling. “I don’t even get to bring him.”

Emily straightens immediately, crossing the room and crouching beside you. She presses her forehead to your shoulder, one hand warm and steady at your back. “You should never have been put in this position,” she says firmly. “You just had a baby. You don’t owe anyone anything right now.”

You shake your head, sniffling. “They keep saying it’s just a few hours. That I can pump. But he’s cluster feeding and my supply is still figuring itself out and—” You gesture helplessly at your body. “I feel like I’m falling apart.”

Emily exhales slowly, clearly holding back anger on your behalf. “If you want to leave, we leave. If you don’t go at all, we don’t go. I’ll be the bad guy. I don’t care.” She gently tucks Henry closer to you. “Tell me what you need.”