Chapter 6
Isaac
The first time Lily calls, the phone cuts off by the time I groggily pick up.
It buzzes against the metal workbench, rattling slightly from the vibration, and I glance at the screen, too dazed from sleep to see it.
I have returned from paternity leave to a mountain of work that is slowly burying me.
My request for more time off was rejected on the grounds that there are two new projects to complete.
I have been searching for a nanny we can afford to keep an eye on Luna, more than Amelie, but no luck so far. Having Mum there is not helping.
I am about to call back when the phone buzzes again.
Probably another question about nappies, or whether Amelie’s rash looks worse, or if Luna has eaten anything. Urgent voice notes over things that turn out to be … nothing. Or things I don’t understand how to fix. Luna not speaking. Luna not eating. Luna staring through people like they aren’t here.
The same things.
The same constant worry that’s been hanging over the house like creeping mould.
But Lily never calls twice. She calls once and then sends passive-aggressive messages about what needs doing.
I pick it up.
“Hey—”
“Isaac, you need to come home. Now.”
Urgency entwined with panic blasts my ear. My stomach drops to my feet as my mind turns all the things that could have gone wrong. Amelie has fallen. Amelie has stopped breathing. Amelie is ill …
I close my eyes tightly, afraid to ask the question.
My grip white-knuckles the phone.
“What happened? Is it Amelie?” I ask with a croak, already pulling my jacket off the back of the chair.
“You need to get home now. Something is wrong with Luna. She called me, and she sounded … Isaac, she didn’t sound right.” Lily stops, breath hitching. I can hear the traffic on the road. “Isaac, just come. Please. I’ve called 999.”
Paralysing fear has me in its grip as I run for my car.
“I’m on my way.”
***
The drive feels longer than it should.
I don’t know how many red lights I have run. Every slow car in front of me makes my jaw clench until it aches.
And my mind won’t shut up.
It drags me back to yesterday.
“Mum,” I said, my voice sounding like a cowed teenager as I braced my hands against the counter. I needed something solid to keep me going. “I think something’s wrong with Luna.”
Mum was drying the dishes. She had always been the strong one in our family, dragging us through every crisis. I owe her everything.
The kettle whistled in the background, but neither of us moved.
“She doesn’t talk to me,” I said, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. “She doesn’t look at me. She doesn’t want me touching her. I don’t know what to do.”
Even saying it had felt like scraping my heart raw.
“Yesterday,” I went on, “I asked her if she’d had a bath. I only wanted to help if she was in pain. She didn’t even respond.”
Mum turned the kettle off then.
“Mum,” I’d said, tentative, because I knew she wasn’t going to like what I said next. “I’ve been Googling.”
God.
“Do you think it’s … depression or something?” I soldiered on.
She went very quiet.
“I don’t know,” she said finally. “It could be.”
“The health visitor said everything was fine,” I added quickly, like I needed to justify the fear sitting in my chest. “She came by last week … said Luna was doing well. Amelie too. Vaccinations are next week.”
I let out a breath that didn’t ease the elephant sitting on my chest.
“Do you think it’s … depression? The one women have after birth?”
I hesitated, dragging a hand over the back of my neck.
“She’s been … off since that first day in the hospital.
” All the things that had been keeping me awake came pouring out.
“I thought it was just her recovering, you know? It got a bit better when her parents were here. It was like she was … finally back to being Luna again. Talking a little. Looking at me sometimes.”
I tried to swallow past the lump in my throat. I looked up at the ceiling to keep the tears in.
“But after they left … it just—” I shook my head. “It dipped again. Just got worse and worse, maybe.”
I couldn’t tell her that my decision to ask her to help seemed to have made things worse.
Mum didn’t interrupt this time, didn’t dismiss my concerns like they were nothing. So, I kept going.
“I don’t know if I’m overthinking it, but … I just feel like she was really upset that day. With everything. With Chloe being there and all … She was fine until Chloe came into the room.”
Mum’s expression changed instantly.
“Why would Luna have a problem with that girl?” she cut in, her tone firm, almost defensive. “She’s such a sweet lass.”
I blinked, caught off guard.
“I was coming to see the baby,” she continued, standing a little straighter.
“And you know I don’t drive. Chloe just happened to see me hurrying out and offered to bring me.
I was excited, Isaac. I wasn’t going to refuse.
I just wanted to see my granddaughter. It felt like I had just gone home to get some food, and I missed the birth! ”
She shook her head, as if dismissing the idea entirely.
“And Chloe was so happy about the baby. Absolutely thrilled. What was I supposed to do, tell her not to come in?”
Yes, exactly.
I opened my mouth before closing it again. If Mum has a blind spot, it is Chloe. Ever since she moved next door when we were both eight, Mum adopted her as the daughter she didn’t get to have. One of these days, I need to sit her down and explain exactly why we got divorced.
“About Chloe. I just—” I started, unsure even as I said it. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m reading into it, but—”
“I have a friend,” Mum cut in, changing the subject abruptly. “She works in mental health. Let me ask her.”
And just like that, the conversation was over. She got like that every time I said something that didn’t sit right with her.
I nodded, resigned to postponing that conversation. I had enough on my plate.
Like my wife disappearing, piece by piece, while I watched.
***
This morning has been worse. So bad, I almost took a sick day.
She didn’t get out of bed. Not even when Amelie cried.
I change our daughter myself with expert hands, blowing raspberries as Amelie kicks her little legs like a champion sprinter. A knot forms in my throat as I admire how perfect she is, then I carry her back into the bedroom.
“Luna,” I say quietly, nudging the door open with my foot.
She is lying here, just staring at the ceiling. Staring at nothing. Her long, wavy hair, shining like bronze, is spread over the pillow, spilling over the side of the bed. Brilliant green eyes slowly shift to look at me just for a second.
“Hey,” I try again with a smile. “Amelie has been asking for her mum.”
For a moment, nothing. Then, in a slow movement that looks painful, she pushes herself up. I hurry to prop her up with pillows. I carefully place Amelie in Luna’s arms before leaning away. I can’t help but pick up a lock of hair. So beautiful. She flinches.
From me.
It was the smallest movement, barely noticeable, but I saw it. It feels like a punch to the ribs.
“I’m just—” I stop, hands hovering uselessly in the air. “I was just trying to help.”
No response.
She angles herself away, shoulders turned just enough that I can’t see her properly. Like she is … hiding from me.
And it—
God, it hurts in a way I don’t even have words for.
I want to ask her what is wrong.
Suddenly, I want to shake her, to beg her, to reach her somehow.
But she looks so tired. There are purple crescents of exhaustion under her eyes. She looks so fragile.
So, I swallow my words and my hurt.
“I made breakfast,” I say instead, my voice sounding distant, even to my own ears. “It’s on the table.” Nothing. “I packed sandwiches for lunch,” I add. “They’re in the box. You just need to toast them.”
Still nothing.
I stand here for a second longer, shifting from one foot to the other, hoping for something.
A nod. A word. A glance.
And finally …
“Thank you,” she whispers.
***
As I turn into the street, my hands are shaking on the wheel. There is an ambulance outside, the lights flashing.
Lily doesn’t panic. She handles things calmly.
If she was scared enough to call me like that—
Something is wrong. Very wrong. God, my Luna!
I barely remember parking. The front door is wide open, the handle splintered.
And Lily is standing just inside, rocking Amelie in her arms.
Her face is wet, her eyes red and swollen—
I’ve never seen her look like that.
“Where is she?” I ask, already moving past her.
“In the bathroom,” she says quickly. “Isaac—”
But I’m already gone. My pulse is pounding in my ears. My chest feels tight.
A single, terrifying thought loops over and over—
Please let her be okay.
Please.
Then I see the blood.