Chapter 27
Luna
Sandra still calls despite repeatedly insisting she wouldn’t “cross professional boundaries”.
Apparently, those boundaries dissolved somewhere between my third crying breakdown and her smuggling me chocolate after Isaac unloaded everything on me.
Now, she rings every few days under the pretence of “checking in”, while absolutely behaving like a foster mum who has adopted me. I can’t say I am not grateful.
“I have a question,” I tell her the afternoon after Chloe got slaughtered. Amelie contact naps on my chest.
Sandra hums. “That tone suggests I’m about to hear something deeply personal.”
“Unfortunately for both of us, yes.”
I hear her laugh softly down the line. I stare at the ceiling for a second before forcing myself to say it. Talking about this … just sucks.
“I loved sex. I mean, I couldn’t get enough of Isaac before. But now … I don’t … feel sexual.”
There’s no hesitation from her.
“That’s normal after a delivery, Luna.”
“I mean not sexual at all,” I continue quickly. “Like … My boobs don’t feel sensitive anymore. They’re basically public utilities at this point.”
Sandra snorts.
“I’m serious. I feel scared, wondering if this is how it is going to be.”
“I am not surprised.”
I shift slightly on the sofa, a little bit shy, a little bit embarrassed.
“They’re not sensitive anymore. I don’t feel sexy. When Isaac … you know … snuggles, I feel ‘oh, no’.”
“Luna,” Sandra says gently, “your body has gone through pregnancy, surgery, breastfeeding, sleep deprivation, hormonal changes, trauma, depression, and sensory overload.”
When she lists it all out like that, it sounds vaguely medically catastrophic.
“You’re constantly being touched,” she continues. “Holding the baby. Feeding the baby. Carrying the baby. Sometimes, your nervous system just reaches capacity.”
That makes sense.
“The C-section scar doesn’t help either,” I admit eventually. “Everything feels … tighter now. Like I am waiting for my insides to spill.”
“What are you doing for yourself physically?”
“I started yoga again.”
“Good.”
“And Isaac’s been great,” I say, before she misunderstands. “Honestly … he’s been everything. No pressure.”
There’s a listening warmth in Sandra’s silence.
“I just feel like I’m letting him down. I know he must be … deprived, I guess.”
“Why?”
“Because he still …” I hesitate. “He still seems to want me.”
Sandra catches it instantly.
“Seems?”
I stare down at Amelie’s tiny hand curled against my chest.
“It’s my body,” I admit quietly. “I hate looking at it. So, part of me keeps thinking …” I swallow. “Maybe Isaac feels the same way too. I know he doesn’t. He stares at my boobs like they are hypnotising him.”
Sandra is quiet for a second.
“Does he act like a man who’s repulsed by you?”
I huff out a laugh despite myself.
“No. No … I think he wants me.”
“Then why are you trusting your insecurities over his actual behaviour?”
I open my mouth, then close it again.
Because annoyingly, yet again, she has a point.
“He looks at you and sees the woman he loves,” Sandra says gently. “You look at yourself and see a long list of changes that don’t meet your criteria for attractiveness.”
Very true, that.
“And for the record,” she adds drily, “most men are not nearly as sophisticated about bodies as women think they are. They have a whole penis while we have a puny clit. Our job is much easier than theirs.”
I cannot help but giggle.
“He genuinely sounds obsessed with you, from what you are telling me.”
“You think so? He has been a little pathetic lately,” I admit.
“There you go. That’s what blue balls look like.”
I smile despite myself.
Sandra says casually, “Why don’t you plan a date?”
“A date?”
“Yes. Just the two of you. Get someone to watch Amelie and go out together.”
I hesitate immediately because separating myself from my girl is hard.
Sandra hears what I don’t say.
“He would probably feel good knowing you’re making that effort, too,” she says gently. “Not because you owe him sex. You absolutely do not. But because intimacy isn’t only physical. Think of it as foreplay that may or may not end in sex.”
I think about it. Then another thought surfaces.
“Manon’s been reaching out,” I admit.
Sandra hums thoughtfully. “How’s that been?”
“Odd.”
“Mm.”
“Their family dynamic is just …” I search for the right word. “Different from mine. They hold so much back. Isaac’s been taking Amelie over there sometimes,” I continue. “His mum barely talks now. He told me when I asked. She just holds Amelie.”
Sandra laughs softly.
“And how do you feel about building a relationship with Manon?”
I think about it seriously.
“I never thought I could after the way things went down. I felt like she was all about Chloe. But she lost a daughter. I can’t imagine losing Amelie like that.
I don’t think parents are meant to outlive their children and remain 100 percent sane,” I eventually say.
“So, I think I would like to meet her halfway. I always wanted us to be family. Not just for Isaac’s sake. ”
“I have a suggestion,” Sandra says carefully. “And you can absolutely ignore me.”
“That usually means I won’t like it.”
“You might not.”
I wait.
“But if you feel you can trust her with Amelie,” Sandra continues, “why not ask her to babysit? That is only if you trust that it is safe to leave Amelie with her.”
The idea feels strangely huge.
“Despite everything, I think she loves Amelie,” Sandra says softly. “And it might be a first step.”
Towards trust.
I look down at Amelie sleeping against me, then towards Isaac’s office, where I can faintly hear him talking to someone on a work call.
“Yeah,” I say slowly. “I think … I think I’d like to try that.” A small breath leaves me. “For Isaac’s sake too.”
***
I find Isaac sprawled across our bed like a starfish when I come upstairs.
Both arms hold Amelie while one leg hangs halfway off the mattress.
He is shirtless, and I want to eat him up. What is it about men with babies?
Balanced proudly on the middle of his chest is a freshly bathed, naked Amelie.
She’s babbling furiously at him while repeatedly smacking his collarbone with tiny wet hands like she’s making a very aggressive point. Her sparse hair has been gathered into the world’s tiniest fountain ponytail on top of her head. It sticks straight upwards, making her look electrified.
I lean against the doorway quietly and watch them for a moment. Amelie suddenly pushes herself upright with enormous concentration, wobbling violently as she tries to hold her own head up.
Like a tiny caterpillar balancing on a mushroom, I think fondly.
Isaac starts to make snoring sounds beneath her. Her whole face lights up.
He immediately makes another exaggerated rumbling noise.
Amelie immediately dissolves into delighted baby giggles.
He does it again. More giggles.
“You like to live dangerously, don’t you?” I ask.
Isaac doesn’t look at me. His entire focus is on his daughter.
“Dammit, Luna, don’t jinx it,” he whispers urgently. “Just be very quiet. God, she smells so nice.”
Amelie slaps him in the face.
“She’s just had a bath,” he continues carefully. “She is not going to—”
She pees on him immediately. There’s a beat of silence.
Then Isaac closes his eyes.
“Knew it,” he mutters “At least it’s a tiny pee.”
I burst out laughing at his expression, and I nearly slide down the doorframe.
“Oh my god.”
“She made eye contact while doing it,” he says, making funny faces at her. “That felt deliberate. She wants another bath, I guess.”
Amelie kicks happily in the puddle of betrayal.
Still laughing, I walk over with a towel and sit on the edge of the bed beside them to scoop the little traitor up.
I smile at Isaac as he wipes the pee away.
Then, casually, I try—
“What do you think about going to that tapas place across town?”
He blinks at me.
“The fusion place?”
“Mm.”
His whole face brightens instantly.
“Yeah,” he says quickly, as if I may change my mind at any second. “Yeah. I’d love that.”
Then his expression falls.
“Damn. I should’ve asked you, not the other way around.”
“I have been a bit highhanded and made reservations for tomorrow. Manon is coming to babysit.”
That stops Isaac in his tracks.
“What?”
I shrug, trying very hard to act nonchalant.
“I spoke to Manon. She’s going to babysit.”
For a second, he just stares at me.
“My mum?”
The sheer disbelief in his voice almost makes me laugh.
“Yeah,” I say softly. “She’s your mum, Isaac.”
Relief trickles into his face. And then he smiles. It is so blinding that it catches me off guard, how handsome he looks.
“Thank you,” he says in a whisper.
The sincerity in it squeezes unexpectedly at my chest.
***
The conversation with Manon had been … awkward.
I stood in the kitchen, twisting the phone cord around my fingers while Amelie was having her bath upstairs.
“Hello, Luna.”
Her voice was cautious, like she thought I might hang up.
“Hi.”
An enormous pause followed while we played the who will blink first game.
Then—
“I owe you an apology.”
That’s Manon—straight to it. My grip tightened on the phone.
“For bringing Chloe into the delivery room,” she said in a rush, like she had practiced it a hundred times.
“For not noticing how unwell you were. For … all of it. I am really, really sorry.” Emotion made her voice tremble slightly on the last words.
“I should have protected you better. I should have been looking out for you. Instead …”
Manon is a proud woman. This must be hard for her.
I swallowed slowly past the lump in my throat before answering. “You didn’t know.”
“No,” she said softly. “But I should have. I put myself in your position and realized, I wouldn’t have liked that at all”
Another silence thrummed between us. Not comfortable, exactly, but not hostile either.
Then, I’d blurted before I could lose my nerve—
“Would you maybe want to babysit Amelie tomorrow?”
Manon had gone completely quiet, like she could not believe her ears.
The silence went on so long that I thought maybe the call had dropped.
Then—
“You would trust me with her?”
The emotion in her voice made me tear up a little.
I glanced upstairs instinctively. I thought about Isaac carrying Amelie into that house every week. I thought about the way Manon looked at my child like she was something holy.
“I think,” I said slowly, “I’d like to try to rebuild our bridges.”
And Manon sounded like she might cry. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes. I’d like that very much.”