The man I married is telling his ex-wife that his life would be better without me and our newborn.

It's nearly 7 p.m. Isaac hasn't been home—a late night he "can't get out of" again.

I jiggle our crying daughter... and accidentally brush his laptop trackpad. The screen wakes up. He left his WhatsApp logged on.

Chloe: You must miss the freedom. Kids change everything, don't they?

Chloe: Bet you wish you could escape for a few days. Come down one weekend. I still know what you like.

Chloe. The Chloe. His ex.

The one he insists he "loathes" because she is so selfish.

And then a reply bubble from Isaac—

I still dream about you.

Something inside me folds into itself and dies.

Our daughter screams again, a wet, exhausted cry, and I jolt because I have been holding her too tight.

He should be here. He should care.

Instead, he's telling his ex-wife she was right—that he did miss his old life. That he dreams about her.

The words are carved somewhere behind my ribs. At some point, I will take them out and allow myself to bleed.

__________

I always thought the first weeks with a newborn would smell like milk and baby powder.

The books said hold her skin-to-skin,immediate bonding, you'll glow, like motherhood was some soft-focus Instagram reel with gentle music in the background while those filters make you look like you have soft glowy skin and everything is shining.

No one mentioned the feeling that you are not quite you anymore.

No one mentioned that the baby bottles and muslin cloths pile up and you don't care anymore. Nothing you read implies that you would feel like you're the only person left on earth and still look fine to your husband and family. To Isaac who I thought knew me better than anyone else on this planet.

I bounce Amelie with one knee, my palm pressed against my lower back. She's been crying on and off for three hours-hiccupping, hungry, overtired little sobs that scrape at my chest like tiny claws. My T-shirt is damp with milk stains though I don't have enough milk.The midwife asked me to put her to bre@st . She gnaws at my n1pples with her little toothless gums and it hurts. Is it supposed to hurt?

I haven't showered. I stink of sour milk and vomit. I can't remember when I last brushed my hair.I don't care and it scares me a little sometimes before that feeling also disappears into the nothingness.

It's nearly 7 p.m.

He should have been home by now.

I hear the laptop ping again.It has been doing that all day.

I have been ignoring it. I used to be interested in his work-his endless projects and deadlines. Now there are late nights he "can't get out of." and dinners which I cannot attend. And I am too exhausted to ask him what his day was like. I just want to sleep.

I stop rocking for a moment, and Amelie's cry spikes into a sharp, furious wail. I start to jiggle her again... and accidentally brush the laptop trackpad.

The screen wakes up.I reach over to key in the password. Maybe some music would help.

One message.

He left his whatsapp logged on.

Then another.

Then a whole thread.

Chloe.

The Chloe.

His ex. The one he insists he "loathes" because she is so selfish but he still feels obliged to help her out when she calls. Which is often.

You must miss the freedom

Kids change everything, don't they?

Bet you wish you could escape for a few days. Come down one weekend. I still know what you like.

My burning eyes skim, my pulse strangely thrumming its normal unaffected beats.

God, I found our wedding album. We were so young.

*A photo of a smiling Isaac carrying a shrieking Chloe over the threshold*

There are no messages from him.

And then a reply bubble from Isaac-

I still dream about you.

Something inside me folds into itself and dies. But there is this wall between what should be pain and myself. A thick wall of ice, numbing everything.

Amelie screams again, a wet, exhausted cry, and I jolt because I have been holding her too tight. My hands shake as I look down. It feels like holding an alien being.

I close the laptop, but it's too late. The words are carved somewhere behind my ribs. At some point I will take them out and allow myself to bleed.

He wasn't supposed to be talking to her after we had that talk about boundaries. He wasn't supposed to be missing her. And he definitely wasn't supposed to be telling her she was right- that he did miss his old life. That he dreams about her.

The numbness creeps over my skin, like a cold mist settling.

I scoop Amelie up, tuck her against me, and sway. She quiets but sniffles escape- hiccups soft into my shoulder. She likes it when I dance.

"It's okay," I whisper, though my voice sounds like it belongs to someone else. "It's okay, my little robin."

But I don't feel okay. I am crying but it feels like I am outside looking in.

I feel... drained. Flat. Someone has pressed a hand to my chest and scooped out everything inside.Empty. A husk of nothingness.

He should be here.

He should see me drowning.

He should care.

Instead, he's telling another woman his life would be better without all this. Without us.

Maybe his life can be better without me.

I put Amelie back down into her baby carrier, still rocking her gently with one hand. She is dozing and I walk toward the bathroom.

The tiles are cold under my feet.

The mirror catches my reflection-pale, unbrushed hair, shadows under my eyes like bruises.

Haggard.

I open the cabinet.

The old sleeping pills sit at the back, the bottle a little sticky where the label had come off.. The doctor prescribed them two years ago when I couldn't sleep.I never took them then.

My fingers close around them without a plan.I tip them onto the counter and watch their reflection in the mirror. They scatter, white and small, like tiny flower petals. Daisy petals. I arrange them without thinking into a circle-petals around an invisible centre. It looks stupidly pretty.

Unlike me.

Amelie sniffles again from the next room.

I close my eyes.

Something inside me detaches from the rest of my body as the walls seem to wobble before they steady. Just... distance. Like watching myself through frosted glass.

I take one pill and put it on my tongue. It doesn't dissolve. I hold it there,my tongue out ,then swallow it dry. It went in easy.

Then another.

Another.

A slow, heavy warmth unfurls in my throat. My hands are light but clumsy. Panic cuts through the fog.

Somewhere in the haze, I reach for my phone.

Not him.

He is too far away ,dreaming about Chloe.I call my person.

The one person who has seen me at my worst without flinching.She will take care of Amelie.

"Luna? You finally return my call? I am not talking to you, you dumb bimbo."

"Lily?" My voice crackles like crumpled paper.

There's a pause, and then her tone sharpens instantly. " What's wrong? You sound-where are you?"

"Can you... can you come get the baby?" My words slur just slightly. I swallow, try again. "Please. Just come. Take her."

"What? Why? Are you hurt? Are you safe?"

My head swims. My knees feel soft. The counter tilts slightly under my palms.

"I'm just... tired," I whisper. "So tired."

"Oh God," she breathes. "Stay on the line. I'm coming right now. Don't move.I am getting into the car."

But my eyelids already feel heavy.

The flower-circle of pills blurs into white smudges.I swallow one more.

"I'm sorry," I mumble around the little pill that feels like a stone stuck in my throat, though I'm not sure who I'm apologising to.

To Lily?

To Amelie?

To Isaac?

Maybe all three.

The last thing I hear before the phone slips from my hand is Lily's voice, urgent and breaking:

"Talk to me. I'm coming. Just stay with me."