Theo holds my hand in his and props the car seat with a sleeping Dorian on the other hip.

“Home sweet home, my girls.” He smiles at me, and then we both gaze down at our baby.

It feels surreal, being back on Nantucket, with a third member of our family. Well, fourth, if you count the anxious cat inside who has probably been purring and pacing by the windows waiting for us to get home.

Nicole came to help Theo get us set up in Nantucket two days before the baby came, and a neighbor has been coming to give her water and food until we could get home. I could see Flapjack through the window, perched on the back of a chair, and squeezed Theo’s hand.

“Someone is happy to have us home.”

We walk to the front door, and just as Theo unlocks it, Dorian gives the cutest little grunt I’ve ever heard.

“Hi, sweetheart, do you know we’re on your island? You’ll grow up right near the ocean,” Theo tells her as we walk into the cottage.

“Just think about the first time she dips her toes in the water.” I daydream.

“She’ll be a little fish, we’ll have to pull her inside to eat and sleep.” Theo laughs. “If I have any say, she’ll be surfing before she stands.”

The house is warm and cozy, and I forgot how much I missed it here while we were in Chatham. This was a home.

“All right, let me unpack her and then I’ll feed her, and then we can figure out what we’re going to do for dinner.”

Theo hums. “Well, before we do that, I have two surprises. Come upstairs first.”

We take Dorian, who is sleeping, out of her car seat and I hold her to my chest as we climb the stairs. The door to her nursery is closed, and Theo pauses with his hand on the doorknob.

“I did a thing. I hope you like it.”

He pushes open the door and I let out a loud gasp, forgetting that a sleeping baby should not be disturbed under any circumstances.

“Oh my … Theo … this is …”

I don’t even have words as I look around the nursery. He’s created a fairy tale, a beautiful wonderland for our baby girl. The whole room is soft pink and fuzzy cream, with fleece blankets and light gray wood. There are beautiful prints of bunnies and giraffes, a bookcase with hundreds of baby books, and a corner of fluffy pillows under a canopy that hangs from the ceiling. There is a dreamcatcher hung above her crib … which looks like …

“Did you make that?” I breathe, instantly feeling the love that was put into the piece.

My husband nods, running a hand over his masterpiece. “I wanted to build her a crib. To make sure that the place she sleeps is filled with love.”

“Oh, Theo …” Tears threaten.

Downstairs, the doorbell sounds, and Theo looks in its direction. “And that’s my other surprise.”

Wiping at my damp eyes, and trying to control my emotions, which are already out of whack, I follow him. I curiously bore holes into my husband’s back as we descend to the first floor, and when he walks into the living room with my second surprise, I’m thoroughly shocked.

“Mother!” It’s so surreal to see her here that I actually startle and Dorian shifts in my arms.

Looking down, I quiet the baby. My mother is here, in Nantucket, standing in the living room of Theo and I’s cottage.

“Imogen, Theo asked if I’d like to come see the baby, and I said I would. So here I am.” She was so matter of fact about this and looked ridiculously out of place in her Chanel suit.

I look across the room at my husband, who seems to be slinking out, but he does give a nod before bolting. He saw me cry through the last half of my pregnancy about how my family had not come around. How they hadn’t thrown me a shower or bought ridiculous gifts like silver banks and kid-sized Maseratis for the baby to drive. Reaching out to my mother was not an easy move for him, but he’d done it for me.

They may have turned their backs on me, but I wasn’t the type of person to do that to family. As I said before, I understand the way my parents were raised … and an outsider might think I’m crazy but it’s just the way our world worked. I may not be a full part of it anymore, but I’d still do almost anything for my family.

She comes in, toting packages like she just raided Saks, and we sit on the living room couches. I tilt Dorian in my arms so that my mother can see her face.

My mother examines her, then motions for me to pass the baby over. Cautiously, I do so, unsure if my mother even held her own children when we were babies.

After a moment, she speaks. “She is beautiful.”

She nods, as if this is a fact, and continues to stare at her granddaughter. The whole thing is so surreal that I actually consider pinching my arm to make sure I’m not dreaming.

“Okay, time to open your presents, darling girl.” My mother speaks right to Dorian as if my less than one-week-old can perfectly understand her.

Hesitantly, I take the wrapped boxes and gift bags, wondering if my mother will irrationally scold me for opening my daughter’s presents. Sometimes, I think the woman really has no idea what’s going on in reality.

I unwrap the various boxes and bags, pulling out a silver bank, a Tiffany baby bracelet, tons of designer baby clothes, wooden handmade toys from a shop in Italy, a custom rocking horse from France, and a very hefty check that my mother instructs me to invest in a five-twenty-nine account for Dorian.

She stays for another half an hour, not making much conversation but simply looking at the baby.

It’s only when she stands to leave does she give me the biggest surprise of my entire life.

“I hope the one thing you learned from me was the art of quiet power. And I believe that you have. I may live in a world of men with extravagance and big egos, and I may appear to be a doormat, but don’t be fooled, Imogen. Almost every decision your father makes, I am the driving force behind it. What happened with your position, and with the way things were handled with Kieran all those years ago, was him going rogue. Don’t fret, he paid dearly for those things.”

I think my jaw may be somewhere on the floor, because this cannot seriously be my mother standing in front of me.

“You may think that my life is all parties and Persian rugs, but it takes legitimate work to run a dynasty household like that of the Weston name. I may be behind the scenes, but my role is just as great as your fathers. That is how our marriage works, but … I am … glad that it’s not how yours works.”

That’s as close to an apology and a compliment as my mother has ever gotten. In her own way, she’s telling me she is proud of me, and this I can accept.

My mother leaves in much of the same matter-of-fact way that she breezed into our home, saying she’d come visit again soon and that she’d like to set up a luncheon for her charity ladies to meet her granddaughter.

“Well, that went better than I expected …” Theo looks like he just saw a clown playing a perfect rendition of Mozart at the Super Bowl.

Funny, I kind of feel the same way. “I think that’s the first time my mother ever told me she loved me. And she didn’t even actually say it.”