Member-only story
The Glasses
On that sunny day in the park, he appeared like he had it all figured out — this parenting thing. Behind him, a Mima Xari Stroller to hold his precious cargo; on his back, a leather diaper bag to carry a cashmere blankie. In his arms, the perfect baby. At his side, the perfect wife. He did something with hedge funds, she knew this for certain. She would see him every morning on the same 6:00am train as she was coming home from her hospital night shift. She was just a nurse whose scrubs were covered in vomit and viruses, but she was a good listener. And she listened to his morning phone calls, knowing he made a lot of money. It came up in his client conversations. So did his baby. And he had the perfect baby.
But as she neared them, on that sunny day in the park, she realized appearances aren’t always as they seem. She watched him, with his perfect wife at his side and his perfect baby in his arms, and she saw him for who he was.
His baby, old enough to reach for his glasses, swiped them right off of his face, whipping the spectacles in all directions, jabbing and poking his father in the eyes, the nose, the ears. Frazzled, the hedge fund father tilted his head back as his petite wife failed at her attempt to control their infant.
He looked so naked. So vulnerable. Without his sleek, black glasses, his eyes looked so small. She noticed him squinting, as if his vision was…
