by L. S. Pullen
He takes hold of my hand. “Believe it or not, I do understand.”
I shake my head. He doesn’t, though, how can he when I don’t even understand it myself?
“I do. Charlie was early by three weeks. He was so small. I was too scared to hold him, worried I’d hurt him.”
“What did you do?” I ask, staring into eyes that mirror Charlie’s.
His laugh is wistful. “I refused to hold him, but my wife told me to man up and before I had a chance to get out of it, she put him in my arms. I knew in that instant, I’d do everything to keep him safe. She taught me how to show my love. When she died, I lost sight of so many things and I have so many regrets. Meeting Verity has been good for me.”
I nod but don’t bother to reply.
“She needs you and you need her. The hole that’s open in your chest won’t recede until you go see her.”
The door opens and Charlie walks in, smiling at his Dad and then towards me. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he says.
“You didn’t, I just wanted to see how Sophie was doing and drop this off.”
He holds me a small gift bag and a card. “Think about what I said, okay?”
I nod.
“Wait, have you seen her?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I didn’t think it was right. Not when you haven’t even met her yet.” He stands, ready to leave, but I grab his arm.
“Wait. Will you come? Come see her with me…with us?” I say, looking over to Charlie, hoping he doesn’t mind. The smile that greets me is all I need to know he doesn’t mind.
“I would love to,” Edward replies.
Charlie leaves to speak with the nurse and returns with a wheelchair in tow. I’d rather walk, but due to the nature of my caesarean, they’d rather I didn’t. It’s not a battle I want to take on right now. I just want to go see her before I talk myself out of it.
Inhaling a deep breath, I stand from the wheelchair and make my way over to the incubator. I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to calm my pounding heart when fingers brush against mine, linking our hands, and Charlie pulls me into his side. I open my eyes and stare at him before finding the courage to peer down.
She’s so tiny.
I gasp and palm the glass as I take a mental photograph: the light dusting of strawberry blonde hair, her button-tip nose, and plump pink lips. Her hands are hidden by mittens.
“Would you like to hold her?” asks the nurse.
“I don’t want to hurt her.”
She shakes her head. “You won’t. She’s strong, and it’ll be good for her to have skin on skin contact with her mum.”
Charlie squeezes my side, worry etched on his face. “It’s okay, no pressure,” he says reassuringly.
I know he’s held her; he’s even changed her nappy. I nod and the nurse ushers me to go sit in the armchair. I can’t pick her up myself due to the caesarean; it’s going to be tough being restricted by what I can and can’t do.
When the nurse places her in my arms in a way that’s comfortable, I know this moment will be engraved in my heart forever. Up until now, I had been feeling alienated, but I did it to myself. I should have come here sooner, I know that. I pull off a mitten and stroke her fingers with mine. She moves and grabs hold of my fingertip into her fist.
“Do you have a name for baby Broadbent yet?” asks the nurse.
I see Charlie shake his head from my peripheral vision.
“Actually, I do… Selene, after her grandmother.”
“What?” Charlie asks.
“I want to name her after your mum, if that’s okay with you?”
He crouches down in front of me, leans in, and kisses me with purpose. It doesn’t last long, but long enough for me to have to take a deep gulp of air when he pulls away.
“My wife would have loved that,” Edward says, clearing his throat.
I don’t know how long I stare at my baby girl with fascination before I ask if Edward wants to hold her. He looks to Charlie for permission, who smiles when he leans down to take her from me, and then lays her into the arms of his grandad.
Charlie kneels beside me and whispers in my ear. “I love you.”
Leaving her is hard but now she’s being moved from the high dependency care ward to the special care unit. They were happy her lungs were fully developed; it was the jaundice and about helping to regulate her body temperature. The light therapy helped, which means she’ll be able to come home soon.
Charlie
She’s quiet, too quiet, when we return to her room. I don’t know what my dad said to her, but I’m glad he did because whatever it was helped her make the decision to see Selene. Watching her hold our girl only doubled my love for her. She’s yet to say those words back to me. I don’t want to push her, but I meant what I said before the accident about wanting to be together to raise her.
“There’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” I say once she’s settled in the armchair. I grab the other chair and pull it up to sit beside her.
“It’s about us, and what we’re going to do when both you and Selene are discharged.” Taking her hand in mine. “I think it would be best if you move in with me.”
“What?”
“I just don’t want to be away from either of you. My house is big enough and I want to live together. It’s something I would have asked you before she arrived.”
She bites her lip, as she watches me.
“I know it’s all arse about face, but I love you and our baby girl. And if you do… I still want to give us a chance.”
“Of course, I want to give us a chance, but I also don’t want you to do this for the wrong reasons. We can still be together and not live together.”
“But I want to live with you. Will you at least sleep on it?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t need to sleep on it. It makes sense. I’ll move in with you, but I’ll have to read my lease, see if I can break it early.”
I lean in and give her a chaste kiss on the lips. “Thank you, you’ve just made me the happiest man alive.”
She lets out a quiet laugh, a sound which warms me. “You might not be saying that after sleepless nights and constant nappy changing.”
Grabbing her hand, I pull it to my mouth, kissing her palm. “Believe me, after the possibility of losing you both, anything else will be a walk in the park.”
Her smile drops, and I want to kick myself for not thinking.
“I’ve made so many mistakes,” she says, her eyes watering.
“What happened with the accident was no fault of your own. As much as I want to kill the son of a bitch, the logical part of my brain keeps reminding me he’s not mentally stable. But then again in the next breath, I don’t want to make excuses for him. But please, whatever is going through that mind of yours, stop it.”
It turns out it was Craig driving the car.
“I’ll try,” she replies.
“Do you want me to ask Flick to help me pack up some of your things for the time being?”
“Yes, might be an idea, and could you also have the baby bits I have in the storage boxes? I haven’t got around to buying a cot or the pram and car seat yet.”
“Do you mind if I get those? Or did you have certain ones in mind?”
She shakes her head. “No, it was the next thing I was going to do. I still have money put aside for them, though.”
She’s so fiercely independent, even now. “Sophie, will you please let me do this for our daughter? I had my head up my own arse for so long. All the things we should have been doing as a couple, you were doing on your own. I need to redeem myself somehow.”
She shakes her head and leans forward, kissing me on the lips. Wrapping my hand around the back of her neck, I keep her close and deepen the kiss, hoping she knows just how much I want this to work.
Chapter 50
Sophie
Selene has been the epitome of strength these past few weeks. As has Charlie—he hasn’t left us. When she w
akes in the middle of the night, he comes in, bottle in hand. He has a system down, and I don’t know how he does it.
It’s strange—living in Charlie’s space. Don’t get me wrong, he set up the spare room for Selene and me. My body is healing but my heart and mind…not so much.
Charlie is so hands-on with her, it puts me to shame. It’s been a culture shock. Of all the things I envisioned after she would arrive, not being able to do the simplest of things for her was not them.
I’m still numb, viewing the world around me from the outside looking in. I kept putting it down to baby blues, but I’m worried it’s more than that. I persistently feel sad and low, and I’m tired all the time. The doctor told me rest was good, it allows the body to heal. But I’m not sleeping at night and then I spend the days practically sleepwalking.
Flick’s been to visit with Nate, but I keep pulling away, making excuses to avoid contact. I don’t know why I’m being like this. It’s frightening, and I know this isn’t me. I’m hoping if I ignore it and don’t breathe life into the way I’m feeling, it will pass.
“Do you want to feed her?” Charlie asks, Selene cradled in his arms.
I nod, not because I want to—but because deep down, I know I should want to. We’ve perfected a way of me holding her with a cushion for support which doesn’t hurt me. But honestly, I welcome the physical pain. It lets me know I’m alive when I feel like a walking ghost.
Once she’s settled, he passes me the bottle and sits beside me, his hand on my thigh, his numb touch barely registering through my three-days-straight pyjamas. Is it weird for me to have Selene in my arms and yet grieve no longer having her cocooned in my womb?
Charlie
I worry about Sophie. She’s gradually getting worse and thinks I haven’t noticed her pulling away from me, from Selene.
The purple bruise-like bags under her eyes are becoming more prominent as days go by. I’ve confided in Nate and Flick about my worries. Flick waved it off and told me it’s likely baby blues on top of having Selene the way she did. But the longer this goes on, Sophie is becoming a shell of the woman she was before. My heart stutters, the rhythm all wrong.
I don’t know what to do, how to make this better. I’m trying to give her time. They say time is a healer but not when you’re the ones who are living it day in and day out. It’s hard to stay positive when you’re powerless to help the ones you love—as they fight an internal battle, one they’re not even ready to admit they’re fighting.
Maybe once she gets the all-clear from the midwife and she can pick Selene up on her own, without me having to always help, she’ll begin to feel more like her old self. It hurts me knowing deep down, she blames herself for what happened. But it was no more in her control than it was mine. All I know is, they’re safe and home with me. I know how lucky I am, and I count my blessings daily.
Things have been getting worse, but I don’t know how to help her. I’ve been mulling it over and I want her to move into my room with me. I want to hold her, let her know she’s not alone in this. The midwife gave her the all-clear; she can now pick Selene up and start doing more activities.
But I find myself coaxing her.
When Selene cries, it’s only if I prompt her that she’ll pick her up, or she’ll make an excuse to ready the bottle instead.
I go in search of her, hoping my plan won’t backfire. Her silhouette stands over Selene’s cot and at first, I think she’s watching her sleeping, but she’s not. Her head’s turned in the direction of the window, staring into the distance.
“Sophie,” I whisper. When she doesn’t hear me, I gently cup her shoulder. She doesn’t even startle at my touch, but turns to me, her stare void. She smiles but her eyes tell a different story.
“Come with me,” I say, holding out my hand. She reaches for it and we step away from the cot and into the hallway.
“For what?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest. I notice her bare nails. When was the last time she painted them?
“I want you to come and choose some wallpaper with me.”
“Wallpaper?”
“I want to turn the spare room into a nursery for Selene, so you can move into my room…make it our room.”
“Oh,” she replies.
I take her hand and lead her into the kitchen where my laptop is set up, already open on the website. We scroll through and I try to get her engaged, and although she’s following the motions, nodding in agreement, she’s not present.
“If you’d rather not move into my room with me, I’ll understand,” I say, even though deep down, it would hurt like a bitch.
She studies my face. “I want to, but I just don’t know when I’ll be ready for anything, you know?” She casts her eyes down to my crotch.
“That’s not why, Soph. I’ll wait until you’re ready. I just want to hold you, know you’re here and safe.” I hope she hears the honesty in my words.
She nods and goes back to the laptop and scrolls, pausing on a soft lemon wallpaper.
I smile; it’s the one I really liked, too. “Perfect,” I say, kissing her temple.
I hope like hell having Selene set up in her own nursery and Sophie closer to me will help her open up about how she’s feeling. I don’t want to push, but I want her present, and I know deep down she wants that, too.
Chapter 51
Charlie
Sophie and I have been sharing a room for a month now. Even though we sleep in the same bed, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so much distance from her—not even when she was pregnant, and we were barely on speaking terms. I won’t give up on her, though. She once told me we weren’t built to be alone, that even in our solitude, we need human interaction to thrive.
I’m thinking the only way forward is some kind of intervention. The thought makes my skin crawl. What if she ends up pushing me away even more? Or worse: wants to leave?
I’m worried whatever I do will be wrong, but as much as this kills me, I need to try. Grabbing my wallet and keys off the side, I call out, “Soph, I’ve got to go into work.” It’s a lie; Olly has it covered, and damn the guy deserves a fucking pay rise.
She finds me in the hallway, her expression forlorn. “Wait, what about Selene?” she asks, worry lining her voice.
“She’s sleeping. I already made up some bottles in case she wakes.” I take her hand in mine. “I should only be a few hours, okay?”
“Okay,” she replies but it’s meek.
My stomach plummets. I shouldn’t do this, but I do. I kiss her cheek, let go of her hand, and walk out of the front door before I lose my nerve. I need to let her take the reins this time. She just needs to see that Selene needs her mum, and hopefully admit she needs some help.
Sophie
He’s been gone over an hour, and Selene’s crying and I don’t know why. I don’t know what she wants. I’ve changed her nappy, but it was dry. I’ve tried her with a bottle, but she wouldn’t take it. Shouldn’t I have a natural instinct about what it is she wants?
I try rocking her in a shooing motion, same as Charlie does, but nothing. She actually begins to wail harder. So instead, I lay her back in her cot—maybe she’s tired.
It’s been almost twenty minutes of excessive, full-on tears and high pitch screaming. Her cheeks are red from the exertion.
I sit in the chair in the corner of the room and cover my ears and push my feet on the floor to start the momentum of the rocking chair and rock back and forth.
Why am I so bad at this? And why is she still crying?
She hates me, my baby hates me.
I don’t know when I began crying, too, but I’m pretty sure this isn’t the kind of reaction a mother or a parent should have to their new-born child. I’m obviously so far past broken, even she can sense it.
Cuffing my sleeve under my nose, I attempt to try and control my breathing. But the sobs racking through my body are making it an impossible task, and I’m worried at any moment, one of us will pass out from the lack of air.<
br />
And the thought startles me.
I search the room in need of a distraction, but nothing is working. My eyes track the room, landing on the small picture frame on the baby’s dresser. I don’t even recall us putting it in here. It’s the one of Charlie and me from the wedding. I’m singing whilst he’s playing the piano. But what makes it the million-pound shot is that it was taken at the exact moment our eyes locked, knowing smiles adorning our faces.
It was a good day. I love to watch him play piano; he makes me want to sing along. I recall the way he looked at me when I asked him to play Hallelujah. The melody is now a hum in the back of my mind. When was the last time I sang? I clear my throat and begin to sing it softly to myself.
I can no longer hear her crying. Has she fallen asleep? I stop singing and push myself slowly to my feet, creeping over to peer into her cot, and as if she senses me, she begins to cry, her sobs lighter than before, but back.
I peer down. She’s helpless and so fragile, her eyes now squeezed shut. She hiccups on her tiny mewling sounds. I used to sing to her when I was pregnant and lying in bed. When I would try and sleep, she’d begin kicking. When I’d sing, she’d stop.
What if?
I clear my throat and pick up where I left off. She moves her head towards my voice and her crying ceases. With tiny eyelashes damp from tears, her Daddy’s eyes stare back at me.
So, I sing a little louder, no longer out of key.
Hesitating, I reach down and stroke her tiny rosy cheek. Her head turns towards my touch. I pull my hand back, and she sniffles. My heart clenches. I lean over her and carefully support underneath her head to lift her into my arms.
Still singing, I move over to the rocker and lower myself with her cradled against my chest. I finish the song and she hiccups, the last of her tears all dried out. I know people say babies can’t smile when they are this little, but I say they’re wrong because I’m pretty sure what I just saw was a smile.