Tangled Desires (Wattle Creek #3)

42

Six months later

Be Still - The Fray

“ L ook at him go,” I say, the phone tilted just right to show Joseph. I tilt the phone down to show Joseph on his tummy, squirming with all the effort his little body can muster, pushing against the mat. His face scrunches with determination, legs kicking way too enthusiastically behind him. A squeal bursts from him, filling the whole room and a tight smile pulls at my lips.

Claire’s face lights up on the screen. “Look at that little guy! He’s so big now. Seven months, huh?”

“Yep,” I reply. “Time’s flying. Too fast, really.” Joseph kicks harder, almost rolling over. His squeals echo, eyes shining. I can’t help but smile, watching the way his eyes shine, so full of joy for the smallest victories.

“You’re both doing great. You look like you’re handling it so well.”

There’s a pause. I let my gaze linger on Joseph, but I’m not really seeing him right now. More like I’m just watching a little person take over my world while mine gets smaller and smaller, slipping through my fingers faster than I can keep up. Claire’s eyes narrow, picking up on something.

“Midge,” she says softly. “What’s that look? What’s wrong?”

I blink, my grip tightening on my phone. That pressure behind my chest, the one that’s been building up for weeks now, it’s right there. Ready to burst. “I’m fine. Just tired. You know, mum stuff.”

She goes quiet and before I can stop it, the waterworks start. Tears I’ve been holding back all day, all week , finally spill over, blurring the screen.

“Wait, what? Don’t do this to me, please, especially when I’m not there to hug you. Talk to me,” Claire says hurriedly.

“I don’t know, Claire. I’m just…” My voice cracks, the words sticking in my throat. “I miss my life. I miss me.” It comes out before I can bite it back. “And I don’t know how to say that without sounding like a selfish, terrible person.”

She’s silent for a moment, then the sound of her tapping away at her keyboard. “Kellie, clear my eleven and twelve o’clock appointments, please. I’m busy.”

“No, you don’t—” Claire cuts me off with a firm tone.

“Yes, I do. I need to talk to my best friend, okay?”

The words spill out faster than I can stop them. “Am I… a shit mother?” My voice cracks, and I almost choke on it. “Because I feel like one. I look at him, and I love him more than anything, but… God, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I feel lost. And I hate it. I should be enjoying this, shouldn’t I? But all I can think about is when this—this drowning—is going to end. And it’s like no one sees it. No one knows.”

Claire’s eyes stay soft as she watches me. “Have you talked to Harrison? He’s your partner in all this. He’ll understand.”

I shake my head. “No… how could I? He wouldn’t get it. He’s out there every day—living, talking to people, doing real things. And I’m just… here. Stuck. I don’t want to make him feel bad, or like he has to carry more than he already is. He works hard every day. God, it’s just… this is weird. It’s weird, and I hate even saying it out loud.”

“Imogen, listen to me. You are not failing. You’re allowed to feel all of this. Every. Single. Bit.” Her voice drops, softer, but there’s still fire in it. “You’re not supposed to have it all together straight away; it takes time. And for what it’s worth, I know Harrison would be there for you if you let him in. Don’t think he’s not in this with you.”

“I know. And Isla… she checks in every day. She knows what it’s like better than anyone, and I know I should probably talk to her more about it.”

Claire smiles. “Good. Let her help you, Imogen. You don’t have to carry all this alone. She’s been in your shoes, and I guarantee she’d understand. And so would Harrison. You don’t have to be perfect for him or anyone else—you just have to be you. That’s enough.”

“I love you. I just don’t want to sound ungrateful. I love Joseph—I do. But this… It’s hard.”

The kitchen smells like roasted chicken and vegetables—a simple dinner I managed to throw together with the leftover pumpkin I’d pureed for Joseph’s lunch. It’s nothing fancy, but it’ll do; he loves food. Ever since we started him on solids around six months to help him gain weight, he’s been all in, grabbing at everything and taking to it like he was born to eat. I can barely lift my arms to clean up, so the plates and cups will just stay where they are.

My hair’s in a bun that’s more a disaster zone than anything else, and I couldn’t care less. I haven’t showered all day, and the idea of standing under hot water feels like a joke at this point.

Joseph’s fed and content, and that’s what matters.

After getting off the phone with Claire, I laid on the carpet next to Joseph, watching him play. His tiny hands had reached for his toys, little fingers clutching at anything within reach. I’d hoped that lying there, soaking in his little giggles and focus, would make me feel better. But it didn’t change much. That heavy, sinking feeling still clings to me.

“Where are my babies?” Harrison’s voice rumbles from the hallway.

The door creaks open, boots thud against the floorboards, and the sound is… relief. Just hearing him, his scent, his rumbling voice—it’s enough to make me smile before I even see him. God, I’ve missed him.

When Harrison’s eyes find mine, he crosses the room in seconds, cupping my face as he pulls me into a kiss, and I melt, that flutter rising deep down, a reminder of how long it’s been.

“You’re finally home,” I breathe him in.

“I wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else.” He drops another kiss on my forehead before walking to Joseph, scooping him off the floor with a smooth, effortless motion. Joseph squeals as Harrison blows raspberries into his tummy.

“Thanks for cooking, Mama. I’m starving,” he teases.

“Good. It’s ready. Go sit down.” Instead of heading for the table, though, he tugs me in for another kiss, this one slow, lingering, lips brushing softly but not easing the heaviness sitting just beneath my ribs. When he pulls back, his eyes linger on my face, the faint crease in his brow telling me he’s noticed.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing.” I force a small smile, shrugging it off. I can’t tell him. Not tonight. Not when he looks this happy.

I’ve just put Joseph down in his bassinet after breastfeeding, burping, and swaddling him—our nightly routine. The room’s quiet except for the hum of his noise machine, a gift from Isla. He seems to love the white noise, and honestly? So do I.

It’s soothing, like a little buffer between me and the weight of everything else. Sliding under the covers, I barely have the energy to adjust the pillow. Harrison follows, his weight dipping the mattress beside me, his freshly showered scent wrapping around me like a hug I didn’t ask for but desperately need.

“Okay, talk. What’s really wrong?” His voice is gentle, but there’s no missing the edge of concern.

“I just need to rest.”

He tsks and hooks an arm around my waist, pulling me closer. His bare thigh brushes against mine. “Nuh-uh, bottling shit up is my thing, not yours. Talk to me, baby.”

A shaky inhale, a trembling exhale, and that’s all it takes. My face crumples, and the tears come fast and ugly. Fucking hell. So much for not telling him anything tonight. Harrison doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t pull back. He shifts closer, his chest warm against my back.

“Midge,” he pleads. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”

The words spill out in a messy rush. “I-I think I’m losing my mind. Day in, day out, it’s the same thing. Feeding, cleaning, burping, swaddling, over and over until I don’t even know what day it is. And when I think I can turn to someone—just for a hello or a goddamn wave—no one’s there. You’re not here.” My voice cracks so hard on the last word it physically hurts.

Harrison’s hands are on my shoulders before I realise he’s moved, turning me to face him. His thumb brushes at the tears streaking down my cheeks. “Midge…” His voice is soft, but there’s something in it that pulls me apart even more.

“I’m stuck, Harrison,” I whisper. “Drowning in this cycle. I’m so fucking tired, and I can’t even sit down for five minutes without something needing my attention. And it’s like, I don’t even know who I am anymore outside of being a mother. I just need—” My throat closes up, and I bite my lip hard, trying to stop a sob. My eyes dart to the bassinet. “Shit, I don’t want to wake him.”

“It’s fine,” Harrison says firmly, brushing my hair back. “If he wakes up, I’ll deal with it.”

“I’m sorry.” My words tumble out before. “I don’t mean to take this out on you. I’m not. You’re working so hard, and I know you’re stressed, too. And here I am, dumping this on you—”

“Hey.” His voice cuts through my outburst. “Why are you apologising? There’s no need for that. Not to me. Not to anyone.” He pauses, his hand cradling the back of my head. “You’re doing everything , Midge. You’re here, holding it all together. You’re allowed to feel like this. You don’t have to keep it in. If anyone should be apologising, it’s me. I’m sorry. I should be here more. I should be helping more.”

I shake my head against his chest. “You already do so much, and now I’m just… I don’t want to make it worse for you.”

“You think I give a shit about that?” His voice hardens, but his grip stays gentle, grounding. “You need me here? I’ll be here. If I have to cut back at work, I will. I don’t care. If you want to go back to work, part-time or full-time or whatever the hell feels right when you’re ready, you absolutely can. Whatever you need, Midge. We’re a team. You don’t have to do this alone.”

His words hit deep, and my tears spill faster.

He tucks me tighter against him, his lips brushing the top of my head, and yet I can’t shake it off. That thought alone sends another wave of tears down my face, and I bring my hands up, trying to hide, trying to stop them. Harrison doesn’t let me. He gently pulls them away, his hands firm but careful as he keeps me close.

“I—” I can’t even bring myself to ask the bloody question. God, forgive me. “Do you—D-do you regret any of this? Us? Him?” I glance toward Joseph’s bassinet, shame crashing over me so hard I can’t look him in the eye. “If you could go back, would you—Would you change anything?” His breath catches, and for a terrifying second, he doesn’t say anything. I brace myself for something I don’t think I can handle. But then his hand cups my face, his thumb brushing away the tears on my cheek.

“Imogen, don’t you ever ask me that again.” His thumb keeps moving, slow and deliberate. “You. Him. Us. There’s nothing in this world I’d change. Not a fucking thing. I don’t regret a single second of this—not the sleepless nights, not the crying, not even the shit-covered nappies.” He pauses, letting out a soft huff of a laugh, but there’s no humour in his eyes. Only conviction. “You’ve given me everything, Midge. A family. A life I didn’t even know I craved. And yeah, it’s hard. It’s messy and exhausting, and there are days I feel like I’m doing a shit job. Like I’m one bad day away from screwing it all up. And I have to tell myself, every fucking day, that I’m a good father. That I’m not him. I’m not him.” His voice catches, raw and heavy, and I swear I feel the weight of his words settle into my chest. “I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Not one damn thing.”

I can’t stop the sob that rips free. He doesn’t hesitate, pulling me into him, his arms tight around me like he’s holding me together. His hand tangles in my hair, and I bury my face in his chest, the steady thud of his heartbeat soothing.

“You’re not making anything worse, Midge,” he murmurs. “You’re not a burden, and neither is Joseph, you hear me? I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re the best mother, and our babies are so fucking lucky to have you. Feisty, witty, smart as fuck, brave even when you don’t feel it. Are you kidding me? Our kids are gonna grow up and ask, ‘How the fuck did Dad get Mum? ’ And I’ll have to tell them it’s because I’m the luckiest bastard alive. You’re not her , Midge. You never fucking will be. We’re better than them . We’re us .” He takes a breath. “We’ll figure this out together, okay? You and me. Always.” His lips twitch into a grin. “I landed myself a firecracker, that’s for sure.”

“You’re such an idiot,” I mumble, wiping at my cheeks.

“And yet, you love me.”

“I do. So much.” He chuckles softly, brushing another kiss to my hair. The silence stretches, not uncomfortable, just heavy with all we’ve said, until one word catches in my mind. Babies .

“Babies? Huh?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely. We’re gonna have a whole house full, sugar. If you want it, too, of course. Little Immy-girls and mini- Harrisons running around, driving us insane. How fucking crazy is that?”

“It’s our crazy, though.”

“Mmmhm.” His lips find mine and for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel like we’re not just surviving. We’re living . Together.