Chapter 110 110. Chaos of Fatherhood

Chapter 110 110. Chaos of Fatherhood
The morning sun streamed through the kitchen windows, casting golden light across the marble countertops where Hazel stood, her brow furrowed with worry. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun, loose tendrils framing her face and her eyes flickered with a mixture of anxiety and determination as she stared at her phone, her thumb hovering over the screen.

Michele watched her from the doorway, his arms crossed over his broad chest, his hair still slightly damp from his morning shower. He'd been observing her for the past fifteen minutes, the way she bit her lower lip, the way her fingers drummed against the countertop in a nervous rhythm.

"You're going to wear a hole in the floor, bunny. What's going on?" he observed, his voice low and warm. 

Hazel spun to face him, her eyes wide with barely contained anxiety. "It's the exhibition, Michele. It's in three days and I haven't finalized the layout. I haven't approved the lighting. I haven't…"

"Breathe," he interrupted gently, crossing the room to stand before her. His hands found her shoulder. "Tell me what's really bothering you."

She sagged against him, her forehead pressing to his chest. "I have to go to the studio today. I can't handle it from home. But I can't leave the kids alone with the nannies. I've already been gone so much this week. George asked me this morning if I still loved him because I've been working so late that he barely saw me the entire day."

Michele's arms wrapped around her, pulling her close. "He's just two, baby. He doesn't understand our work. He just knows he misses you."

"I know. But that doesn't make it easier. I'm a terrible mother," Hazel whispered, her voice thick with guilt. 

"Stop." His voice was firm but gentle. "You're not a terrible mother. You're an incredible mother who also happens to be an incredibly talented artist and you have an exhibition in three days which is important too."

Hazel lifted her head, her eyes meeting his. "But they…"

"I'll take care of them. I’m not going to office today. I'll handle everything here," he said, his voice calm and steady. 

Hazel's eyes went wide. "Michele, you can't. You have meetings."

"They can survive without me for one day. You're more important than any meeting and our sons are more important than any delay," he interrupted, his thumb stroking her cheek.

"But you've never handled them alone before. Both of them. For an entire day. George is a handful on his best days and Nathan…" Hazel protested.

"Will be fine. I'm their father, Hazel. I've changed diapers. I've fed them. I've put them to bed. Just because you've been the primary caregiver doesn't mean I'm incapable," Michele said, his voice patient.

Hazel's resistance crumbled. "I know you're capable. I just…"

"You're worried," he finished for her. "I know, bunny. And I love you for it. But right now, I need you to trust me. Can you do that?"

She took a shaky breath. "Yes. I trust you."

"Good. Now tell me what you need me to know. Everything. Leave nothing out," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. 

Twenty minutes later, they were standing in the nursery, Hazel's voice a steady stream of instructions as she pointed to various items around the room.

"Nathan's bottles are in there," she said, her voice tight with anxiety. "The ones with the blue lids have extra formula. He needs to be fed every three hours. His sleep schedule is…"

"I know his sleep schedule," Michele interrupted, his voice patient. "You've told me a hundred times. Eleven thirty nap. Two hours. Another nap at four."

Hazel blinked. "Yes. That's right."

Michele continued, "George's routine is breakfast at eight, playtime until ten, snack at ten thirty, nap at eleven thirty with his brother. Lunch at one. More playtime. Dinner at six. Bath at seven. Bed at eight."

Hazel's jaw dropped. "You remembered all of that?"

"I've been paying attention, bunny. Just because I'm at the office doesn't mean I don’t know about them," he said, his lips curving into a warm smile. 

She nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. "Call me if…"

"I'll call you if anything changes. But I'm telling you, baby. We're going to be fine," he promised. 

After a long, tearful goodbye with George, Hazel finally walked out the door.

"Okay, little warriors, it's just us. Let's show Mommy what we're made of," he said. 

The first hour was surprisingly smooth. George was content to play with his toy cars on the living room floor, his small hands pushing them across the carpet with soft vrooming sounds. Nathan slept peacefully in the bassinet.

Michele allowed himself a moment of pride. Maybe this wasn't going to be so difficult after all.

That was his first mistake.

It started with a wail. Nathan's eyes flew open, his face scrunching into a mask of distress. His tiny fists waved in the air as his cries filled the room.

"Okay, okay, I've got you. Shh, little one," Michele murmured, scooping the baby into his arms. 

Nathan was not interested in being soothed. His cries grew louder, his small body arching in Michele's arms. George, abandoning his cars, toddled over with wide eyes.

"Natan cry. Natan sad," George observed. 

"Yes, I know, I'm working on it" Michele said, his voice warm. 

He tried rocking. He tried bouncing. He tried walking and swaying and humming a tuneless lullaby. Nathan's cries only intensified.

"Maybe he's hungry," Michele muttered, his eyes scanning the room. "Right. Bottle. Where's the bottle?"

He searched the kitchen frantically, Nathan's wails echoing through the mansion. He grabbed it, heating it in the warmer.

"Here we go, drink up," he said, offering the bottle to Nathan. 

Nathan took the bottle and promptly screamed even louder.

George tugged at Michele's trouser leg. "Daddy! Natan no like bottle! Natan want Mommy!"

"I know, buddy. But Mommy's not here right now. We need to figure this out," Michele said.

He tried everything. Nothing worked. Nathan was inconsolable, his face red, his tiny body trembling with the force of his cries and then George started crying too.

"Daddy! George sad! George want Mommy!" George wailed, his small face crumpling.

Michele's heart seized. He had two crying children, one in his arms, one at his feet and no idea how to fix it.

"Okay. Okay. We can do this. We just need to…" he said, his voice steady despite his panic. 

He stopped, his gaze falling on the play mat in the corner. The one with the dangling toys that Nathan always loved. He crossed to it, laying Nathan down on the soft surface and dangled one of the toys above him. Nathan's cries faltered. His eyes followed the toy, his tiny hand reaching up to grab it.

"Good boy. That's it. Focus on the toy," Michele breathed, his heart racing. 

George's cries had subsided to hiccupping sobs. Michele scooped him up, settling him on his lap.

"Okay, little warrior, you can help me make Natan smile. Can you do that?" he said, his voice soft.

George nodded, his small face serious. "George help Daddy. George make Natan laugh."

He reached out, his chubby finger poking Nathan's cheek with infinite gentleness. Nathan's cries faded, replaced by a soft coo.

"Natan like George. Natan no sad now," George observed, his face lighting up. 

"That's right. You made him happy. You're the best big brother in the whole world," Michele said with a smile. 

The rest of the day was a blur of chaos and triumph. Nathan's naps were unpredictable, his feeding schedule a moving target. George's energy was relentless, his demands insatiable. 

But somewhere in the chaos, something remarkable happened. He discovered the joy of reading to both of them, George nestled on his lap, Nathan cradled in his arm. He discovered the magic of bath time, the way George's giggles filled the room as he splashed water everywhere. He discovered the profound pleasure of watching his sons sleep.

When Hazel's call came at six o'clock, her voice filled with worry, he was able to say the words he'd never thought he'd say, "We're fine, sweetheart. We're all fine. Take your time. We've got this."

When she finally walked through the door past seven, her face weary but triumphant, she found Michele on the living room floor, George asleep on his chest, Nathan in the bassinet beside him.

"See? I told you. We had it covered," Michele said, his voice low and warm. 

She crossed to him, her lips pressing to his forehead. "Thank you," she whispered. 

"Always, baby," he replied, his free arm wrapping around her.