Chapter 13
Luna
The storm in my heart rages—confusion, anger, hurt, and yes, disappointment. How could he do this? She is his ex!! How could he be so stupid? It takes me a little while to calm down enough to call Lily. She doesn’t even hesitate, saying she’ll be here in the afternoon.
By the time she knocks at the door, I’ve just finished another session with Sandra, who has somehow become a steady presence over the last few days, quietly stitching things together in the background; liaising with the community mental health team, making sure there is something resembling a plan before I leave.
One of our neighbours is going to come and help out while Isaac is away at work.
And now I’m not sure I am ready for the real world.
I watch Sandra as she gathers her notes.
“How do you find the time to come see me every day? The NHS is run off its feet. Not that I am not grateful.”
She pauses and glances at me, one brow lifting slightly.
“Don’t you have … other patients?” I add with a smile.
Sandra smiles at that—a small, knowing smile—and shrugs as she tucks her pen away.
“I do,” she says simply.
I wait, expecting more.
She looks at me for a moment longer, her expression soft, as if remembering something.
“You remind me of myself, from a long time ago,” she replies.
There’s something in the way Sandra says it that makes me realise she isn’t going to explain further.
There is a knock, and then Lily’s head appears around the door. “Busy?” she asks, her eyes flicking between us.
Sandra moves quickly. “Nope. We were just finishing up here.” She turns back to me, her expression warm. “If all goes as planned, we are all set for discharge tomorrow.”
Tomorrow.
The word makes me anxious. This period in the hospital has been like an oasis of calm, and now, the real world is rushing to grab me.
It has been a little over two and a half weeks in the hospital, and I am beyond ready.
Stir-crazy doesn’t even begin to cover it.
I want my house. My bed. My bathroom. My garden.
I want to walk into the nursery and look at it properly, not through the fog I left it in, and decide what needs changing, what needs fixing, what needs to go. But I am scared.
Sandra gives me a small hug before leaving, closing the door softly behind her, and Lily steps into the room, dropping her bag onto the chair and looking at me properly for the first time.
“Well,” she says, folding her arms, “you look less like death.”
“I’ll take that,” I reply drily.
She snorts and comes closer, but there’s a pause in her, too, like she’s gauging how much of me is actually here.
We don’t get far before my mind drifts back to earlier today, to when Isaac came in, with Mum and Dad as buffers.
My husband stood there, hovering like he always does now, like he is both desperate to say something and terrified of saying the wrong thing. “Luna, I was thinking—”
I had cut him off before he could finish. “Maybe you should take the night shift,” I said, my voice like a frozen lake, almost too calm. “Go back to work. You’ve been off long enough.”
The words had hit the target I meant them to. His eyes were bleak with pain, and I … I didn’t feel any better for hurting him. But hurt people hurt people.
There was a moment of silence while Mum and Dad tried to read the tension in the room, and then he just nodded. “Fine.”
Just like that. No argument. No pushback. And that almost enraged me into throwing another pillow at his stupid, stupid face. I wanted to claw at him. I wanted to see him bleed, like I am bleeding inside. Why should I be miserable alone?
Mum had raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow at that, her gaze moving between us, sharp and assessing, and I just shook my head slightly and mouthed, “Later.” She didn’t press, just turning her attention back to Amelie, fussing over her in that Mum way she has.
Having her there was like a weight off my shoulders.
And Isaac left. That’s what he does, I thought bitterly—and not very reasonably. Yes, run back to mummy.
Lily is watching me now, too perceptive, as always. “You’re thinking about murdering your husband,” she says.
“I’m thinking about the logistics of moving his body,” I correct.
She gives me a look that says she has an unmarked van that we can use. And I can only smile at that before my expression turns grim.
Sandra’s words echo in my head. Discharge planning. Support in place.
I am going to have regular visits from the health visitor, follow-up from the perinatal mental health team, community psychiatric nurse check-ins, and access to a mother-and-baby support service if needed.
There’s even talk of a postnatal support worker dropping in to help with routines, feeding, and making sure I don’t slip back into that dark place again.
But then there’s social services. They came for a chat. The lady in a suit asked her questions and took notes without giving anything away. But I knew what they were thinking, even when everyone told me they wouldn’t take my child away.
Child at risk.
The words had hovered, unspoken.
In the end, they were satisfied with the doctor’s reports, the plan, and the fact that Isaac is present, involved, and steady.
They are happy to keep an eye on things, and I can’t rock that boat. I can’t lose Amelie.
Because one thing was crystal clear: without Isaac, things could get complicated.
Lily drops into the chair beside my bed, leaning forward, elbows on her knees. “Alright,” she says. “Start talking.”
I look at her. This time, I don’t deflect.
“Things are not okay,” I finally say.
She nods once.
“I know that.”
Lily sits forward, studying me, but before she can speak, the door opens again, and Mum walks in, carrying Amelie. She takes one look at my face, then at Lily, and sighs softly as she settles into the chair.
“I thought I’d catch you before I go,” she says, adjusting the blanket around Amelie. “And before this one”—she nods at Lily—“starts analysing you.”
“I don’t analyse,” she mutters. Lily works part-time as a clinical psychologist for the NHS. She moonlights for corporations, and she charges them her weight in gold.
“You absolutely do,” Mum replies without missing a beat, with all the ease of the woman who always packed an extra meal for Lily while we were in school. Then she turns to me. “Do you want me to stay?”
I nod wordlessly. It takes me a minute to get my thoughts in line.
And once I start, I can’t stop. Between ugly, broken sobs, I finish telling them everything, every fractured piece of it—the hospital, the messages, what the doctor explained, what social services said, what Isaac confessed. By the end, I can’t stop crying.
Mum is the first to move. Her arm comes around me, and she pulls me into a hug, rubbing my back, whispering for me to let it out. Finally, she draws back and brushes the tears away from under my eyes. Her own are also shiny.
“Baby, I am so sorry … I don’t know how things are going to go between you and Isaac, but I do know men.
” She pauses, choosing her words. “Your father was an idiot. Years ago, he started spending more time talking to that Heather from the reception at the garage. Nothing happened, but I could see where it was going. And I had to tell him that I didn’t like it and that it felt like he was giving something to her that belonged to me. ”
I look at her, surprised.
“And what did he say?” I ask, sniffing.
She snorts lightly. “He said he didn’t realise what he was doing. Which, knowing him, was probably true. Men are dense, Luna. They are built differently. You have to spell things out for them sometimes.”
“Men don’t always see the line until you point at it,” she continues, matter-of-fact. “They don’t always understand what counts as crossing it. It’s not because they don’t care, but because they think very differently from us.”
Lily shifts slightly beside me but doesn’t interrupt.
Mum continues, her voice quieter now. “That doesn’t mean you excuse it. It just means you decide what you’re willing to tolerate and forgive, and you make that very clear.”
I swallow, allowing her words to settle inside me.
“And once you’ve said it,” she adds, looking directly at me, “you don’t keep guessing. You make them answer for what they did.”
She softens, brushing Amelie’s cheek with her thumb. “Your brother’s coming back in two months, by the way. His deputation is finishing.”
That brightens my day.
“Really?” I say, something in my heart lifting despite everything. Tony works for MI5, and there are sometimes long periods when he doesn’t call.
“Yes,” she says with a small smile. “You’ll have him around again. That will do you good.”
It would.
Mum stands after a moment, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “You talk,” she says quietly, glancing between Lily and me. “I’ll take her for a bit.”
And just like that, she leaves, the door closing softly behind her.