🩶Sullivan Sessions (Book 4) {BTR Series}

8 months after The Fallout (Book 3)

The exam room smells like antiseptic. I’m perched on the crinkly paper of the table, and wearing a thin paper vest and a paper blanket draped across my legs.

Rey is wailing again. That sharp, high-pitched cry that slices straight through my nerves. Vivek paces by the window with him, bouncing gently, murmuring something that clearly isn’t working. His eyes are tired. So are mine.

Dr. Patel walks in with her usual warm smile and a tablet tucked under one arm. “Good morning, Olivia. And how’s our little guy doing today?”

I smile, or at least try to. “Loud,” I say, nodding toward Rey. “But healthy.”

Vivek laughs under his breath. “Yeah, we’re not sleeping much, but we’re getting through it.”

Dr. Patel chuckles as she pulls on a pair of gloves. “That’s the newborn life. Let’s take a quick look and make sure you’re healing the way we want.”

I scoot to the edge and place my feet in the stirrups. The physical exam is quick. She talks me through it, and I nod where I’m supposed to. When she’s done, she peels off her gloves.

“You’re healing well,” she says, turning back to me. “No concerns. You’re cleared for intercourse—whenever you feel ready.”

Vivek glances at me, his brows raised just slightly. I give him a tight smile, the kind that says Don’t even think about it without saying anything at all.

Dr. Patel rolls her little wheeled stool back to the counter where her tablet sits. “Okay. Now let’s talk about how you’re doing, emotionally. Are you having any crying spells? Mood swings? Trouble bonding with Reyansh?”

I let out a quick laugh that sounds too loud in the small room. “I cried at a diaper commercial the other day.” I shrug.

“Your hormones are still fluctuating, that’s normal. Are you rested?”

“I’m tired all the time. He’s been fussy nonstop, and I barely remember what sleeping through the night feels like.”

She watches me a little too closely. I shift on the paper, suddenly hyperaware of the sweat gathering behind my knees.

Her attention shifts to Vivek. “And Dad, are you helping out?”

“Yeah, as much as I can. I do diaper changes and walk him around when he’s fussy, but I’m kinda lacking in the feeding department,” he says as he motions to his chest.

Dr. Patel chuckles, “Understood. Well, it’s normal to feel overwhelmed,” she says gently. “The first six weeks are tough, especially if you're exclusively breastfeeding. But there’s a difference between baby blues and postpartum depression. Have you felt hopeless at all? Had any thoughts of hurting yourself or the baby?”

My whole body goes still. “No,” I say too fast. “No, nothing like that.” Then I soften it with a smile. “I just… some days I don’t feel like myself. But I think that’s normal, right? I’ll bounce back. It’s just the hormones. And the no sleep. And… everything.”

She nods. “It can be normal. But if that feeling doesn’t lift in the next few weeks or if it gets worse I want you to call me right away. Okay? Don’t wait.”

“I won’t,” I agree.

Rey’s cry sharpens. Vivek rocks him faster. I want to help, to stand and hold him, but I feel pinned to the table like I’m bracing for something I can’t name.

“You’re doing a great job,” Dr. Patel says, her voice softer now. “Just make sure you’re checking in on yourself, too.”

I nod again. It’s automatic.

Dr. Patel leaves the room, and I get dressed. I gather my purse and adjust the strap over my shoulder, but my hand trembles as we head to the car.

The car door closes with a soft thud, sealing me into a tin can of noise. Rey is screaming before we even pull out of the parking lot. His little fists are flailing in the car seat, face flushed and scrunched into a look of pure, endless misery.

I reach back and try to adjust the buckle around his shoulders, hoping maybe it’s pinching or something, but nothing helps. He’s just… crying. Again.

Vivek settles into the driver’s seat and starts the engine, glancing over his shoulder with a sympathetic grimace. “Maybe he’s hungry again?”

“He just ate,” I mutter, pressing my forehead against the cool window. My head is pounding, and my nipples ache with that familiar tingling burn. My body’s already reacting, assuming I’ll feed him again even though I’m barely keeping up as it is.

Rey’s cries rise and fall in pitch, that screechy, colicky pattern I’ve come to recognize like a terrible song on repeat. It doesn’t stop. It never stops.

At a red light, Vivek reaches one arm into the back seat. “Shhh, shhh, buddy, we’re almost home.”

It only makes Rey scream louder.

I close my eyes and exhale through my nose, trying not to snap. My palms are sweaty, and I’m suddenly aware of how damp my shirt is beneath my armpits. Everything feels too tight. Too loud. Too much.

He’s just a baby, I remind myself. He’s just a baby.

But I’m so tired. God, I’m so tired.

We hit a red light, and Vivek glances over at me. Rey’s still crying, but it’s turned into this tired little whimper like he’s exhausted from himself.

“You handled that appointment like a champ,” Vivek says, nudging my knee lightly with his hand. “Cleared for action and everything.” He grins, playful, but there’s something behind it... A quiet hope.

I smile, small and tight. “Yeah.”

He doesn’t push, just lets the silence hang for a second. “Not saying we’ve gotta bust out candles and slow jams tonight or anything,” he adds with a low chuckle. “Just… good to know we’re getting back there. That your body’s healing.”

I nod, eyes still fixed on the window. I should say something—something appreciative, maybe even reassuring. But the words feel heavy in my mouth.

Sex used to be the easy part. The part where we clicked without trying. The part that made us feel close. Now, the idea of being touched by him feels like another thing on a to-do list I’m already failing at.

“I know it’s been a lot,” he says softly, more serious now. “I just… I miss us. I miss you.”

I finally turn to look at him. He’s not pressuring me, not really. He means it. And that’s the worst part because I miss me too.

“I’m just tired,” I say, barely above a whisper.

“I know,” he replies. “I’d never press you. We’ll get there when you’re ready.” And I know he means that too.

I nod again and stare out the window. But I’m not sure where there even is anymore.

My body doesn’t feel healed. It feels foreign. Swollen in all the wrong places. My belly is soft now, not round and full of life like it was when I was pregnant, but deflated. Sagging. Marked. The stretch marks didn’t show up until the final three weeks, and when they did, they came fast and angry, leaving dark, Jagged marks that wrecked me.

I rubbed cocoa butter over my stomach every night like a ritual, hoping to keep them at bay. And for most of my pregnancy, I felt beautiful, glowing. But when those last few weeks hit, and the lines bloomed across my skin, I couldn’t look in the mirror without flinching.

And now? Now it’s worse. Because there’s no baby in there anymore. Just the evidence of what I was, what I gave, and what didn’t bounce back.

I feel thirty pounds heavier, because I am thirty pounds heavier. My leggings pinch at my waist, and every time I lift my shirt to nurse, I suck in instinctively when Vivek is around.

I used to be in such great shape. I worked out daily. Did yoga and Pilates several times a week at the country club. But now, I don’t even know who I am anymore when I look in the mirror.

By the time we pull into the driveway, Rey is finally asleep, his mouth slack, cheeks damp, still hiccuping in his dreams like he cried himself dry.

Vivek cuts the engine, careful not to slam the door as he unbuckles Rey. He’s gotten good at this—cradling him just so, shifting his weight without waking him. His fingers are gentle and practiced as he gathers the diaper bag and opens the front door for me.

Inside, the house is clean. It smells like lemon cleaner and laundry detergent. The floors are swept, the dishes are done, and I notice the throw blanket on the couch is even folded. Vivek must’ve tidied up after the morning chaos while I was nursing Rey.

I drop my purse by the door and pause, just for a second.

He’s been amazing, really. He does the laundry, preps my postpartum tea every morning, and cleans the kitchen without being asked. He’s stepped into this role without complaint, without pause. And I love him for it. I do.

But this wasn’t the plan.

I wasn’t supposed to be here. Not like this.

When I left Landon, I told myself it was about freedom. I needed to rediscover who I was outside of a man, outside of being someone’s wife. I pictured a quiet house, mornings to myself, a return to the stage, and finally finishing my degree. I imagined breathing room. Peace.

Instead, I’ve got a colicky newborn, leaky breasts, and a man I didn't intend to live with unpacking our baby’s diaper bag.

Vivek was supposed to be a boyfriend. I wanted him, but not this. Not a new domestic life before the dust of the old one had even settled.

And now it’s all mashed together. No space. No breath.

He lays Rey in the MamaRoo swing near the sofa, humming low under his breath. I take off my shoes and move through the living room like a guest in someone else’s life.

Yes, the house is clean, but my body is not. My mind is not.

Author's Note: To see the birth of Reyansh, check out my book Fumbled Hearts Bonus Chapter. The chapter is titled Big Brother...Again