Chapter 6 - A Place at the Feeding Table
Owen was discharged just after noon the next day. Meredith sent me a short message confirming that the medical team had approved the plan and that Corinne had taken him to her mother's house. I was not invited to accompany them, and I did not ask.
Instead, I went to the pharmacy and purchased the supplies listed in the discharge instructions for my own home. I did not know when Owen would spend time there, or whether Corinne would ever agree to an overnight visit. But if I was going to be responsible for him, I needed to learn the practical details rather than wait for someone to tell me they mattered.
The nurse had emphasized that premature infants could have feeding difficulties and that Owen's progress would need to be monitored. I arranged to attend a follow-up appointment with Corinne's approval. I also asked whether the hospital offered a parent education session. They did, and I booked the earliest available place.
My first scheduled visit took place two days after Owen came home. Corinne's mother, Margaret, opened the door. She had met me dozens of times during our marriage, but she greeted me with the guarded courtesy of someone who no longer assumed she knew what I would do.
“Corinne is feeding him,” she said. “Come in quietly.”
The house smelled of toast and laundry detergent. A portable bassinet stood in the sitting room, beside a chair with a folded blanket draped over its back. There were feeding supplies on a tray and a notebook filled with times, amounts, and observations.
Corinne sat with Owen in her arms. She looked exhausted, but the tension in her shoulders eased slightly when she saw me.
“He just finished a feed,” she said. “You can hold him after I burp him.”
I sat down and waited. The old version of me would have reached for him immediately, assuming that being his father entitled me to whatever I wanted. Now I watched Corinne support his head and move carefully, following the routine the nurse had demonstrated.
When she handed him to me, I settled into the chair and kept one hand behind his neck. Owen's eyes opened briefly, then closed again.
“He's been sleeping more today,” Corinne said. “The nurse said that isn't necessarily a problem, but we need to keep track of his feeds.”
“I wrote down the instructions.”
“Did you understand them?”
“Yes. But if I get something wrong, tell me.”
She nodded. For the next half hour, we spoke mostly about practical matters. When his next feed would be due, how to record the amount, and which number to call if we had concerns. It was not an intimate conversation, but it was the first time in months we had worked together without one of us trying to win.
When Owen began stirring, I asked Corinne whether she wanted him back.
“Give him another minute,” she said. “He does that before he wakes up properly.”
She was right. A moment later, he opened his mouth and made a small, searching movement. I passed him back, and she began preparing the next feed.
“You're learning,” she said quietly.
“I have a lot to learn.”
“Yes.”
The word was not cruel. It was simply true.
After the visit, Margaret walked me to the front door. She had once treated me like the son she never had, inviting me into family dinners and asking my opinion about repairs around the house. Now she kept her hands folded in front of her.
“I loved watching Corinne become a mother,” she said. “I also watched her spend too many nights waiting for you to come home.”
“I know.”
“No, you know the facts. You don't know what it felt like to watch her keep defending you to people who were worried about her.”
I wanted to tell her that I loved Corinne, that I had never intended to hurt her, that the company had consumed more of my life than I realized. But I could see she had heard those explanations before.
“I can't ask you to trust me,” I said. “I can only try to give you a reason.”
Margaret studied me, then opened the door wider so I could leave without squeezing past her.
“Then start by being on time next visit.”
I was.
Over the following week, I attended two visits and one follow-up appointment. I learned how to prepare Owen's feeds, how to record his intake, and how to recognize when he was too tired to continue. I also learned that caring for a newborn involved long stretches of waiting punctuated by small decisions that could not be postponed.
Corinne began allowing me to handle more of the routine. She did not leave the room, and I did not mistake that for an insult. When Owen fussed, she showed me how to settle him without changing his position unnecessarily. When I asked the same question twice, she answered it without reminding me that she had already explained it.
The financial dispute continued in parallel. My accountant prepared a proposed repayment schedule, and the receiver reviewed the records. Some of the disputed charges were confirmed as personal. Others required more documentation, including expenses approved by Martin Hale.
Daniel advised me not to accuse Martin without evidence. I agreed, though I remained troubled by the entries he had approved.
Then, during a visit, Corinne handed me a folded sheet of paper.
“This is Owen's current care schedule,” she said. “I want you to keep a copy. If you are going to have regular visits, you need to be able to follow it without calling me every time.”
I took it carefully.
“Does this mean we're moving toward a more regular arrangement?”
“It means I'm willing to discuss one. I need to see consistency first.”
“I understand.”
She watched me put the paper in my bag rather than leave it on the table.
“There is something else,” she said. “The trust's attorneys have asked me to consider whether you should be allowed to return to any role in the company while the review continues. I've told them I won't make that decision for them.”
I felt the familiar urge to argue that the company was my life's work. Instead, I asked what she thought.
“I think you should have to answer for what you did,” she said. “I also think the employees shouldn't lose their jobs because you made personal choices with company money.”
It was the first time she had acknowledged a concern beyond her own family. I remembered how often she had attended company events, listened to me complain about staffing problems, and suggested ways to support employees during difficult projects.
“You still care about the company,” I said.
“I care about the people who depend on it. That isn't the same as caring about protecting your position.”
I nodded. “Then I'll do what I can to help the review without interfering.”
She looked at me, perhaps waiting for a qualification. When none came, she folded the remaining care notes and placed them in Owen's bag.
As I left, she said my next visit could be on Saturday morning.
May you like
It was not a reconciliation. It was a time and a place.
For now, that was enough.
