Chapter 10
Luna
Soft light filters through the beige curtains.
So bright, it hurts my eyes. I vaguely have impressions of strangers coming in and out.
A nice lady asked me if I would like to sit up.
I remember nodding and saying I was hungry.
Then I slept again. I remember Isaac saying something, holding my hand.
Lily talked while Isaac ran fingers through my hair.
And suddenly, everything comes into focus.
“Lily?”
My voice comes out all wrong, like I have been strangled. A bit like I haven’t used it in days.
“Wh—what? Where … Where is Amelie?”
The words tumble over each other as panic rises like a wave. Lily jerks awake beside me. She was passed out in the chair, folded like a pretzel.
For a long second, she just stares at me.
“Oh my god. Finally. Fucking finally.”
Her voice breaks.
Tough Lily—Lily, who never backs down from anything—is crying. She swipes at her face and stands too quickly.
“I-I’ll get the nurse—”
“What time is it?” I ask, my head still heavy, thoughts lagging behind.
She fumbles for her phone.
“Morning,” she says. “The doctors should be coming for rounds soon.”
I try to sit up, only to still immediately. Pain crests, and I wince as I look down at the tube.
My old enemy—the catheter.
They had to put one in during the caesarean. It was the worst of the worst. A fresh wave of discomfort, of indignity, rolls through me. Why is it back in me?
The last thing I remember …
I close my eyes, trying to catch it before it slips away.
Dancing with Amelie in my arms.
And then … nothing.
“Amelie is fine. You have been in and out since yesterday,” Lily rambles. “You pulled out that nose tube. You had a bit of yoghurt yesterday, and then it was lights out.”
“Am I at the hospital?” I interrupt.
Lily nods, but she is struggling to hold it together.
“Why am I in the hospital?” I ask, grabbing her hand. “Why can’t I remember?”
There is a knock at the door. It opens before I can piece my fragmented thoughts together.
A young man in scrubs with a head of wild, messy curls walks in. His glasses slip slightly down his nose. A nurse follows behind him.
His eyes widen when he sees me sitting up on the bed, and he gives me a bright smile.
“Hello … Luna?” he asks. “Wonderful to see you up. Do you remember me? No? It’s alright. You were not 100 percent yesterday, but I can see you are feeling better today.”
I nod slowly.
“It’s good to see you awake,” he says, stepping closer. “You’ve given us quite a scare. Let me introduce myself. I am Davis. I’m one of the doctors on the medical team. And this is Sandra, one of our nurses.”
His voice has a soothing quality. Closer, I can see the streaks of grey hidden in his brown hair.
“What happened to me?” I ask, and even I can hear the tremor in my voice.
He glances at Lily. Something passes between them.
I don’t like that look.
“I need to know what happened. Why am I here?” I ask, my voice rising.
“Alright. Before we go there, I need a few details, okay?” He turns back to me, pulling a chair closer. “What is the last thing you remember?”
I swallow. The last few memories are grim.
“I haven’t been feeling … right since I came back from the hospital,” I say slowly. “Just tired. And … sad. Just blank, even when I hold Amelie, like nothing matters.” The words sit awkwardly on my tongue. “I didn’t know what was wrong.”
I pause.
My head feels heavy.
“I’ve been struggling,” I finally admit, “with breastfeeding. With … everything.” I look at him. “Tell me what happened.”
He nods slightly.
“Sometimes, it’s easier if you have the information in small packets instead of all at once. It may feel overwhelming otherwise …” he tries.
“It’s worse, not knowing why I am here,” I interrupt. “What are you not telling me? I am fine. I can take it. Is it my daughter? Is Amelie alright?” I can feel the panic rise.
“Yes. Your daughter is fine, but the hospital is not the safest place for newborns. Do you recall that you fell and hit your head?”
I can feel a headache coming on as I think hard.
“No.”
I search for the memory … but there is nothing. The panic climbs.
“I don’t remember much after dancing with my daughter in my arms … that night.”
“That’s okay.” He hastens to reassure me.
Davis leans forward slightly, his expression earnest. He has to be a good doctor, a small part of me thinks, because he makes you feel like he has all the time in the world for you.
“I’m going to ask you some questions. You can have Lily stay, or it can just be you, the nurse, and me.”
“I’m fine,” I say quickly. “I want her here.”
My heart is thudding in my chest.
The door opens, and Isaac walks in, balancing two cups of tea. Steam curls into the air. For a second, that’s all I can focus on.
The smell, warm and familiar. My mouth waters immediately, desperate for a cup.
Then our eyes meet. He stares at me wide-eyed, just inside the doorway.
His lips move to mouth “Luna” without a sound. Relief floods his face, and he takes a step forward.
Then, a strange expression crosses his face, and he hesitates. Isaac has never been like this. He is always touching me.
Pulling me onto his lap.
Wrapping himself around me like he can’t bear to be away.
When he drives, my hand is always on his thigh until I complain it’s gone numb.
When we sleep, he drags me over him like I’m his safety blanket, even while grumbling about my ice-cold feet.
And then, when everything was perfect, Chloe walked into that room.
Something changed in me that day. For the first time, I felt that he didn’t have my back anymore.
Now, I can see how the distance is hurting him, even as I can’t help myself. I can’t bring myself to forgive him yet for letting me down when I was vulnerable.
I am pulled back into the room.
“Your husband, right?” the doctor is saying, glancing towards the door.
Isaac is still standing here as if he is not sure I want him nearby.
“Would you like him here?” the doctor asks.
I nod. I don’t trust my voice just yet.
Isaac steps forward slowly, like he’s afraid I will change my mind but giving me that option.
He comes to stand near the bed—close, but not touching. The doctor turns back to me.
“How do you feel in yourself?”
I manage a small smile.
“Grimy. This tube has to go,” I say, pointing to the catheter.
He smiles at that.
“I think we can do that. But do you feel sad? Lonely? Like you did before?”
I pause and think about it.
It feels … strange. That version of me feels distant.
“Just … tired,” I say finally. “And confused. But not too bad.”
He moves into examination. Checks my pupils. Shines a light. He keeps talking, asking me questions, talking about the godawful weather, about the morning rush to the hospital car park.
“Follow my finger.”
I do.
My head throbs. I want to sleep again, but I keep going.
Finally, he pulls the chair closer and sits, facing me.
His hands are loosely clasped in front of him.
“Your body has been through a lot in the last few weeks,” he says. “Pregnancy, delivery … Your hormones will be all over the place.”
I nod. That part, I understand.
“I understand you’ve been struggling with breastfeeding. Correct?”
Another nod. That part hurts more. I thought it would be natural.
He takes a breath.
“Five days ago, you fell in the bathroom and hit your head. There was a minor bleed on your brain. It’s called a subarachnoid haemorrhage.”
He gives me a moment to digest that while carefully monitoring my expression.
“You were found unresponsive. You had to be brought here by ambulance.”
My stomach twists. Why can’t I remember?
“I understand you called Lily and asked her to come get Amelie. Do you remember that?”
I shake my head slowly.
The absence of that memory scares me.
The doctor is watching me carefully.
“Looking through your history … it appears you were experiencing a severe form of what we call postpartum depression.” He gives me a moment before continuing.
“It’s not as uncommon as you might think.
We have started you on some medication for that.
Just the lowest dose possible. And talking to you today, I think that is all you will need,” he adds gently.
My fingers tighten slightly against the sheet.
“And one more thing…and you need to take this in the context of what you were going through at that time. The reason you fell may have been because you took more sleeping tablets than you were supposed to. But fortunately, not enough to make it dangerous. It was the fall that complicated things.”
My head snaps up.
“No.”
The denial is out without me having to think about it.
“I wouldn’t—I would never. I would never have done that. Amelie was there with me!”
My chest feels like it is closing up. Amelie was with me. My heart starts to pound again. I wildly look around at Lily, then at Isaac, waiting for them to tell me this is a joke. There is sympathy in their eyes. I don’t deserve it.
“I understand this may be difficult to hear,” he says calmly. “And sometimes, when there’s been a head injury, especially a bleed, you may not have a clear memory of the events surrounding it.”
But I’m already shaking my head.
No.
No.
No.
Because—
That means—
I can’t breathe.
I left her.
I put her at risk.
My gaze drops as everything blurs.
I can’t look at them. Not at Lily. Not at Isaac. Not at anyone.
How could I have done that?
The room feels smaller.
A chair moves closer.
Soft and careful, the nurse sits beside me.
She has beautiful grey hair, cut in a neat bob. Kind brown eyes that don’t look away, don’t judge.
“I’m part of the psych support team. My name is Sandra,” she says gently.
Her voice is warm honey. “Sometimes, postpartum depression can make you do things you wouldn’t normally do.
You need to remember this is because of the chemicals in your body misbehaving,” she continues.
“It changes how you think. How you feel. How you cope.”
I swallow hard, still not looking up. My fingers have become interesting all of a sudden.
“But even then,” she says softly, “you thought of your daughter.”
My brow furrows slightly. I finally do what she is willing me to do and look up.
“That’s why you called your friend,” she adds, tilting her chin towards Lily, who nods. “Even at your worst, you made sure she was safe.”
I blink slowly.
“You did good, Luna.”