Chapter 15
Luna
Amelie is asleep in her crib. My bags are packed and ready to go. The cubicle is quiet.
Throughout last night, I chewed on what Lily and Colin said.
Both pissed me off and made me think. They made me take out the little notebook Sandra gave me, and I wrote down what I was feeling, just like she told me to when everything begins to feel overwhelming.
Mum stayed with me overnight. She could probably see from my sucky-lemon face that I was not open to any more advice, so she combed my hair and did a complicated French braid to keep it off my face.
Then she gave me a long hug and asked, “Want to come home with me?”
I didn’t answer. I just hummed, so she kissed my hair and went to sleep on the little cot by the window.
Isaac comes in the evening with blueberry ice cream and wisely leaves it on the table before retreating without a word.
It is like he is unsure if he’s allowed to exist in the same space as me anymore.
The only reason I do not chuck the food at his head is because it would be a waste of good ice cream, and the nice ward staff would have to clean it up. They are run off their feet as it is.
I can’t even look at him yet. The anger is a living thing inside me, waiting with claws out for the right moment. I will shred him to ribbons.
The night was sleepless, but clarity has come at last, unwelcome and inescapable.
I tried to unalive myself, and that has consequences.
Therefore, I cannot leave Isaac until social services back off.
I have to be smart because I cannot be apart from Amelie—a piece of my heart and a slice of my soul.
Finally, I understand the violent connection mothers feel when they see their child, how they are willing to do what it takes.
And if that means temporarily staying with Isaac, so be it.
It feels great not to be wading through mental quicksand anymore.
***
Everyone comes to help with the bags, and there are lots of hugs and goodbyes.
I have cards placed in my hands, details of who to contact, and mentions of a discharge summary being sent to my GP.
Amelie is a good baby, sleeping through it all …
so well-behaved that I would have begun to wonder if her hearing is alright if we hadn’t gotten it checked when she was born.
Manon is here, but she keeps the chit-chat to the minimum, and for that, I am grateful.
There is no time to think as we try to stuff the million things a baby needs into the boot of the car and leave like a wedding procession of three cars. Lily has tried calling, but I can’t talk to her right now. I need to feel like not strangling my best friend is a good idea.
***
I am home, and everyone is busy putting things away. Then it’s time for dinner, and finally—finally—Mum is off to sleep in her guest bedroom after Papa went back to Bradford.
We face each other in the bedroom like gladiators in an arena.
The bed sits between us like a line drawn in chalk. I laugh inside at the irony because of course it would come to this: two people who once couldn’t keep their hands off each other, now standing on opposite sides of a mattress, like it’s no-man’s land.
It’s no different from a ceasefire.
“Luna …”
His voice sounds like it’s been dragged over gravel.
I don’t answer as I feel him hovering. Waiting.
But I have nothing left to give. The day has been too much, and now, I only want to take my magic pill and sleep.
“Can we—”
“So—”
Our words crash into each other, just like the way our lives have been going. Out of sync. I can’t bear the softness in his voice. Maybe because I am afraid he will convince me to change my mind.
I lift my head and look at him for the first time since … everything. Not through the corner of my eye or just a glance and away.
Isaac looks—
He looks like hell.
There’s a slump to his shoulders I’ve never seen before. My husband is always like a titan. Never hesitant …
Now, he looks like he’s folding in on himself.
His blue eyes meet mine.
And something in them—hope, maybe—flares for a second before it flickers and dies.
Because I know what he sees. There’s no love for him to find. No warmth, or even the exhausted, aching despair I used to carry around like a second skin.
Just … distance. And maybe hatred.
It feels like I’ve stepped back from my own life and I’m watching it happen to someone else.
“So,” I say again, because the silence is worse than anything else. “You don’t need to stay, you know.”
His brow furrows slightly.
“What?”
“You don’t have to do this.” My voice is steadier than I feel. “Play the devoted husband. Mum’s going to be here. You don’t have to … stay here out of obligation.”
“I’m not—” He shakes his head quickly. “I want to be here. I have to be here.”
Desperation bleeds from every word.
I nod once, like I’m acknowledging a colleague.
“Right.”
He waits, still too afraid to say it or name it.
So, I do it for him—just not the way he expects.
“It’s not all your fault, you know.”
The words hang between us as I watch him try to guess where I am headed.
“Not … totally,” I add, because honesty feels easier when it’s stripped of emotion. “You didn’t know how to deal with me. I get that.” I glance down at my hands again. “And I didn’t know how to ask for help.”
“That’s not true.”
The force in his voice makes my fingers tighten.
“This—this is all on me, Luna. All of it. My fault.”
I don’t respond to that because I don’t have the energy to argue.
Or to comfort him.
Or to absolve him.
I let the silence hum between us.
Then, because there are still practical things that matter—things that seem safer than feelings—I ask, “What have you told them at work?”
He blinks, thrown that I’ve started talking about work.
“What?”
“At work.” I keep my tone neutral while my heart is suddenly trying to beat its way out of my chest. “Did you tell them? That I tried to off myself?”
“No, no.” He shakes his head quickly. “I wouldn’t. I just said you had some complications from the C-section and … that I needed to take some time off.”
I nod.
“That’s good. You should go back to working onsite. It will be easier for both of us. You don’t have to see me, and I don’t have to see your lying, cheating face.”
His face shifts at that. Pain flashes through it. Unexpectedly hurting him does not make me feel any better.
“I’m not leaving you.”
“You should,” I repeat quietly. “There’s no point in both of us being here. I won’t try again.”
He goes pale at that and starts to sway. Then, he opens his mouth, but I don’t let him interrupt.
“I appreciate you not telling them. At work, I mean,” I add. “I don’t want people looking at me like that. I don’t want them talking behind my back.”
“She is a bit unstable. Always was a bit off.”
“She is coming. Hush.”
Silence when I enter the room.
I shake it off and finally say the thing I’ve been turning over in my head for hours.
“I would appreciate it if we don’t separate immediately.”