22. Chapter 22
Luna
I can barely hold back my tears when Mum hugs me tight enough to crush my bones. Her familiar scent of coconut oil and lavender soap soothes me, even as I force myself to let her go. Moist green eyes exactly like mine convey her heartbreak at the parting, as well as her message to stay strong.
“You will be fine, my strong Luna,” she whispers before letting go and kissing Amelie’s forehead. Then she throws Isaac a sharp glance, which could mean anything from watch yourself to I have left a few booby traps for you.
She still holds him at a distance after what happened, and I suspect it is going to be an uphill task for him to win her trust back.
“Call me,” she says, her voice a little thick as she pulls me into an embrace again.
“I will.”
My voice wobbles in a way I cannot control. Her face blurs as the tears brim and then spill down my cheeks. I can feel the dip in my mood, like incoming grey clouds before the storm. How am I going to manage without her?
She pulls back to cup Amelie’s cheek, murmuring to her, then her eyes come back to me, searching.
“Take care of yourself.”
I can only nod. I know if I ask her to, she will stay. But Isaac and I … we need to sort this out.
The car door closes behind her.
And just like that, my anchor drives away.
***
The house is different without Mum. Awkwardness creeps in as I start chopping vegetables for snacks.
Amelie is on her mat in the living room, kicking her legs like she’s discovered something miraculous about them. She chortles like a bubbling brook.
Three months old.
A glass appears in front of me.
I blink and look sideways at Isaac.
He’s nodding at me as if he expects me to follow his cue.
It’s thick. And purple. And there is a lot of it.
I am finding it suss.
“What’s in that?” I ask, somehow reminded of frog legs and chicken intestines going into a witch’s cauldron.
Even as I ask, I slowly nudge it away.
He notices and nudges it back.
“Milk. Banana. Oats. Blueberries. Flaxseeds. Peanut butter. You’re breastfeeding …”
“Some of the time,” I interject.
“Yeah,” he says easily. “You still need to replenish.”
I sigh, already irritated. “Don’t you have work?”
“Yes.” But he doesn’t move. “In a minute.”
His arms fold, waiting for me to try it.
“Drink. I have tested it. It’s not radioactive.”
I stare at him, hoping that will make him back off. He doesn’t move.
I take the glass like I’m doing him a favour and take a cautious sip—
It’s actually good, which is deeply annoying.
I scowl at him.
“Finish it.”
“You’re very bossy. It’s not a good look on you,” I grumble.
“You’re very stubborn. And it’s a very hot look on you,” he shoots back.
I roll my eyes, hiding how those words make a tiny thrill run through me, and I drink.
And he stays here until the glass is empty. Only then does he nod, like I’ve passed some sort of test, and head downstairs to the office, already opening his laptop—but not before he kisses me quickly on my cheek and backs off before I can take a swipe at him. He is faster than a kamikaze pilot.
***
I move around the kitchen, half-starting things, not really cooking as much as just … being here. I feel a little useless. Mum has already made enough food for the next week.
Amelie squeals from the mat.
I glance over, already moving towards her before I can stop myself.
“Alright, alright,” I murmur, wiping my hands and crouching beside her.
Her eyes lock onto mine, bright and curious.
I press a kiss to her tiny foot.
“You’re far too happy. Who is Mummy’s pretty baby? Is it you? Is it you?” I tell her, as she chortles again as if she agrees.
***
Sandra calls right on time. This is going to be her last call now that the community mental health team have been in touch.
I sit by the window, watching Amelie kick her legs while I answer.
“Hi, Luna. How are you doing today?”
“I’m … okay,” I say slowly. “Better than before. I don’t feel numb anymore.”
“And Amelie?”
“Thriving,” I say, a small smile slipping out. “Very loud.”
She laughs softly.
We go through the usual things—sleep, feeding, how I’m feeling, the small wins that feel big. I talk about how it felt when Mum left and how I am coping.
“He told his mum,” I say abruptly, wanting to talk about it.
No finesse, but there it is.
Sandra doesn’t interrupt.
“He explained everything about Chloe. Said I was more important than anything else.”
Even now, it feels strange, saying it out loud.
“How did that feel?” she asks.
“Good,” I admit. “But … strange.”
“Because it’s new?”
“Yeah. Isaac is very hands-on. Likes to hug and cuddle. But not very vocal about how he feels. I had to train him to tell me he loves me every day when we first met. Now I get it. His parents are not very demonstrative of their love, even though they seem to get on well. Not like my mum and dad.”
There is a pause before I hesitantly tell her about running into Chloe as we were leaving.
“And …” she asks gently.
I exhale slowly.
“It was … odd. The whole interaction made me want to shake him.”
“Do you still feel there was something going on?”
“No.”
That comes quicker now.
“He showed me everything. Messages. Chat logs. He gave me his phone.” I hesitate, then add, “I … looked at deleted stuff too.”
There’s a flicker of embarrassment I can’t quite hide. Sandra hums.
“You needed to be sure. And he was eager for full disclosure.”
“His messages were not very exciting. I think there was a grand total of ten one-to-three-word replies. I felt a bit mad,” I admit.
“Or human,” she says lightly.
I huff a small laugh.
“Do you still think there was something inappropriate?” she asks.
“No. I think he was as lost as I was and didn’t know how to deal. A comedy of errors.”
“Then what’s bothering you?”
I watch Amelie for a second.
“Why didn’t he tell her off?” I say finally. “Why not just shut it down properly? I don’t feel like I had closure.”
Sandra is silent for a moment.
“Some people,” she says slowly, “grow up learning to avoid conflict at all costs.”
I chew on that.
“He told his mum,” she continues. “That’s a big step, especially if he’s spent years letting her take the lead. Particularly after losing a sibling. That kind of dynamic runs deep. He may have learned it from his father too. And he wanted you there when he did it.”
I realise his dad is more or less the same.
“He always just … lets things slide. Expects me to calm down and forget about it,” I murmur.
“And now he didn’t,” she says gently. “That must have been hard, but I think he has realised the alternative is losing you.”
I swallow. “But with Chloe—”
“Have you considered,” she cuts in softly, “that he might not have wanted a confrontation in a place where everyone knows him? Where it reflects back on his parents? I am sure there were neighbours listening in on the drama.”
That hadn’t crossed my mind.
“He may have been choosing a quieter boundary,” she adds.
“I didn’t think of that,” I admit.
“That’s okay,” Sandra says. “You’re both learning each other again.”
When the call ends, I don’t move straight away.
From the office room, I can hear the low murmur of Isaac’s voice on a work call.
Amelie lets out a sharp, delighted squeal, and I feel something like hope in my heart.
***
By the time he stops for lunch, I have made a grocery list.
“Mum left lasagne,” I say, already putting it in the microwave.
He nods, a little distracted, before shaking it off.
I heat it while he moves around the kitchen, setting out plates and cutlery on our small dining table.
He takes my glass, fills it with water, and then pauses to add a slice of lemon, exactly the way I like it.
I pretend not to notice. We sit down across from each other and eat. Isaac fills the silence with news about work.
Every now and then, I feel his eyes on me. Quick glances, like he’s checking something.
I keep my focus on my plate. I am still a little bummed about Mum leaving.
When Isaac finishes, he stands, gathers his plate, and scrapes the leftovers into the bin.
He rinses his dish and slots it into the dishwasher.
I watch him, a faint smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.
He never used to do that. Isaac used to leave it in the sink with the food still on it, like it would magically disappear if he ignored it long enough.
It took me weeks to train him out of it.
There was that one time the sink blocked—completely clogged—and I stood over him while he wrestled with the plunger, muttering under my breath about idiot men while he shot me increasingly offended looks. The memory slips in so easily that it catches me off guard.
For a moment, I’m somewhere else entirely. I’m so caught up in it that I don’t notice him moving around again.
Something lands in front of me. A large box wrapped in brown paper.
He’s standing here, hands half in his pockets, a boyish grin tugging at his mouth, almost shy, but with that unmistakable flicker of excitement in his eyes.
“It’s not my birthday yet,” I say under my breath, already reaching for it.
I love gifts. Always have. And Isaac indulges me with little thoughtful ones all the time.
I tear into the paper without ceremony.
“Isaac—”
It’s a LEGO set. Not just any set—a Ferrari Daytona SP3.
I stare at it like it might disappear if I blink. I am obsessed with these. This one is expensive—more than ￡300.
“She’s going to be grabbing things soon,” he says a little too casually. “Figured we might as well … build it now before she tries to eat it.”
I feel like there is light shining inside my chest. Useless tears prick my eyes before I can stop them. Such a beautiful gift.
I blink rapidly, but he sees it immediately.
His grin falters.
“Hey, did I—”
“No,” I say quickly, my voice catching. “No. I love it.”
I press my hand over the box and hug it to my chest.
“I love it,” I add, softer now. “You know that.”
A flicker of something crosses his face. Satisfaction.
“Do I get a reward? A kiss …” he asks.
“Don’t push your luck, buddy,” I shoot back, but I am grinning.
We built a drone once. Sat cross-legged on the floor for hours, arguing over instructions, laughing when it didn’t work the first time, celebrating like idiots when it finally lifted off, only to crash into a tree. It was … one of my favourite days.
I swallow, blinking away the sting in my eyes.
“Thank you,” I say, already opening it and pulling out the instruction booklet.
Isaac nods, relief slipping into his expression, but he doesn’t make a big deal of it.
Something almost like the before flickers into place.
***
The next few weeks whizz by. Isaac has his sessions with his therapist, and I have mine. Manon has called him a couple of times, and I heard him ask her to give me time.
When we are in bed, he whispers that she wants to come and chat, but we can do that when I am ready. I have control.