**Part 2**
For a while, the three of us were happy. Then an incident occurred, and Claire began seeing my brother differently.
I considered it an accident. Claire told me she’d forgiven him.
I wanted to believe her.
Yet she became tense whenever Jamie approached. She watched his hands and began taking objects away from him—a bag, a plate, a glass.
“I’ll do it.”
Jamie noticed, though he never complained.
Claire had always expected him to do things properly, just like everyone else. I’d once considered that a sign of respect.
But when she became pregnant, those expectations turned into fear.
Jamie, meanwhile, was delighted.
He counted down the weeks aloud, bought tiny socks with his own earnings, and proudly told every customer at the garden center that he would soon become an uncle.
When Sophie was born, Jamie stood in the hospital doorway and extended his hands.
“Can I hold her?”
Claire immediately pulled Sophie closer to her chest.
“No. Absolutely not.”
“Claire…” I said. “He’s held babies before.”
“And if he squeezes too hard? Drops her? Gets excited and forgets she isn’t a doll? I’m not experimenting with my daughter.”
Jamie’s arms slowly dropped.
“Okay.”
He slipped his hands into his pockets.
I looked at my wife, but she refused to meet my eyes.
Things deteriorated after we brought Sophie home.
Jamie visited every Sunday, and Claire would greet him at the door with hand sanitizer.
“Hands.”
“I washed already.”
“Wash again. For Sophie.”
He always complied.
One Sunday, he offered to help.
“I can feed her.”
Claire actually laughed at him.
“I already have one baby to watch. I’m not supervising you, too.”
Jamie’s expression went blank.
“Okay,” he replied, then headed into the hallway to collect his coat.
I pulled Claire into the kitchen.
“That was cruel. Don’t ever talk to him like that again.”
“I’m protecting my daughter.”
“From her uncle?”
She turned toward me.
“You weren’t the one he poured boiling water on.”
The kitchen fell silent.
Boiling water. That was how she described it now.
It had been soup.
Years earlier, Jamie was carrying a pot toward the table when Claire stepped directly into his path. They collided, spilling the soup over her arm and side.
She’d needed bandages for weeks afterward. Jamie apologized every single day.
“You said it was an accident,” I reminded her.
“It was. He didn’t mean to burn me. That’s the point.” She folded her arms. “What happens when he doesn’t mean to drop Sophie?”
“You used to tell him his jokes were bad. You used to treat him like a person.”
“That was before I had a baby. He’s unpredictable, okay? He’s not safe around her.”
“You’re judging him for one accident from years ago.”
“You can pretend he’s capable of everything because he’s your brother. I have to be realistic. This time I’m not risking my own skin. I’m risking hers.”
I couldn’t find an answer, though I knew her reasoning was unfair.
Then a shadow appeared across the kitchen floor.
Jamie stood in the doorway wearing his coat. I had no idea how much he’d overheard.
He said nothing.
Instead, he stepped into the hallway and tapped twice on the doorframe.
I knocked twice in response.
Claire remained silent.
A moment later, the front door clicked shut.
We arranged Sophie’s first family photo session that same month.
Jamie arrived wearing a blue shirt, the last one Mom had ever bought him.
We began by taking pictures together.
Then Claire addressed the photographer.
“Can we get one with just the immediate family?”
Jamie blinked.
“I am immediate family.”
Claire sighed.
“Jamie, please. I just want one normal picture.”
He didn’t protest. He simply stepped aside and stood beside the wall.
After that day, Jamie stopped asking to hold Sophie.
He continued visiting, talking to her from across the room and waving as though she were a neighbor.
But he never tried reaching for her again.
And something else began to change.
Jamie started disappearing after his shifts. Since he finished work at noon, I usually called around lunchtime.
“I’ll pick you up. We’ll get food.”
“Can’t. I have class.”
“What class?”
“Just class. Tuesday and Thursday.”
“Since when do you keep secrets from me?”
He smiled. “It’s a surprise.”
The following Sunday, Jamie placed his bag on the hallway bench before going to wash his hands.
The zipper slid open.
Claire froze.
Inside, resting on top of his sweatshirt, was a plastic baby doll staring at the ceiling.
“Jamie. Why do you have a baby in your bag?”
He hurriedly closed the zipper.
“I have to give it back.”
“To who?”
“Someone.”
“Jamie…”
“It’s a surprise!”
Then he rushed into the bathroom.
Claire turned toward me.
“Why is your twenty-nine-year-old brother secretly carrying around a baby doll?”
“I don’t know.”
“And that doesn’t bother you?”
“No.”
She left the room.
But I hadn’t been truthful with her. The doll genuinely worried me, and I couldn’t tell how deeply being excluded from the family photographs had affected Jamie.
