“Please make the baby stop crying,” I asked out loud, trying to bury the annoying sound as I put my hands over my ears and retreated to our bedroom.
Tucker followed me close and grabbed my elbow to spin me around. Frustration blistered inside me when his grip forced me to look at him.
“Babe, he’s twenty-six days old. He’s not a robot. You can’t just turn the switch off.” I groaned something while he continued, “And he’s not the baby. He’s our son. Jamieson. He has a name. I don’t understand how you can’t say it. You chose it. And it fits him perfectly. Why do you call him by any other name under the sun but his?” He sighed. “Talk to me, Wilde.”
I gestured around me. “I’m exhausted. That’s all. And my tits are leaking. Gimme a break, okay? I’ll get better at this mommying thing. You’re not the one who popped him out of your body. Time. I need some fucking time of my own. Not attached to a milk-sucking human twenty-four-seven."
“Addison—”
The look in Tucker’s gaze broke me. But I really needed to be on my own. Sleep it off. And just be in the moment. Was it too much to ask?
“I’m tired of people telling me what to do. Didn’t you hear me? I’m not just a milking machine.”
“I never said that.” He restrained his annoyance. I could hear it in his tone. “Where is this coming from?”
I threw my arms over my head. “Just forget I said anything."
He inched toward me. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”
“I’m fat and ugly. I look like I have just gone through war. Or left an asylum. I need time. This entire thing is asking too much of me.”
His hands rested on my upper arms. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? We gotta talk about these things.”
I stepped back and escaped his touch. “I don’t wanna talk. I wanna sleep. And go back to how things were. Before the baby. Before I became—”
The baby’s cries intensified.
“Coming, Jamieson,” Tucker said as he turned on the balls of his feet. He stared at me over his shoulder. “This conversation isn’t over. I understand everything you’re saying, but it doesn’t make it okay. Or acceptable.”
“Whatever,” I said, entering the darkness of our bedroom—I didn’t even bother opening the curtains in the morning anymore—and slamming the door behind me.
Once alone, my breathing resumed. The knots in my stomach loosened. The weight pressing down on my shoulders cleared. And the suffocating prison I felt closing in on me released a little.
My clothes were rumpled, my hair dirty and tousled, but I didn’t have a care in the world. All I wished for was to sleep for a day or a dozen. Tucker could feed the baby. I had pumped milk like a stupid cow for hours earlier. And he could do the night shift. Sue me, but I disliked the bottle, diapers, naps, and do-it-all-over-again routine. Elisa came over yesterday to play nanny for the afternoon and ended up doing my makeup and helped me change into real clothes. A much-needed upgrade to the sweaty-and-stained-shirts look I wore lately. Still, I refused to let her see my abdomen, too ashamed about how it looked at the moment. So far, it hadn’t given me any hint it would go back to a respectable shape anytime soon.
I scrolled on my phone for a little while, and once Tucker got the baby to stop hollering, sleep claimed me, and I just abandoned myself to it.
In my dream, I found my way back to that edge of the precipice. The only place I found serenity. And peace washed through me as the breeze swept my skin.
The morning light filtered through the crack between the curtains as I stretched my arms beside me.
The sheets were cold on the left side of the bed, which meant Tucker had been up for a long time already.
Feeling less groggy, I took a long and hot shower, letting the stream wash away every remnant of my sleep. I had become quite good at avoiding my reflection and looking at my postpartum body. As long as I didn’t acknowledge it, my brain could pretend it didn’t exist.
I put on black pants and a loose-fit off-the-shoulder shirt and met my husband in the kitchen, hoping wearing clothes that belonged to me for once would make me feel good about myself.
“Wow, you look great,” he said, placing a cup of tea in my hand and bending over to kiss my lips. “And smell great too. Feeling better?”
I shrugged.
The baby cooed in the seat he had set on the counter, and my gaze fixed on him for a second before my focus went back to the food in front of me. Using my fork to avoid my husband’s heavy stare, I played with the scrambled eggs, pushing them around. I could sense the questions, the annoyance, the incomprehension all pouring out from him.
Not hungry, but refusing to engage in a discussion, I brought the food to my lips. My stomach churned at the scent. My gag reflex engaged as I tried to swallow down.
“Sweetheart, you’ve been eating almost nothing since you gave birth. You gotta fuel your body with something other than caffeine. And Dr. Pettyfer said it would help with the milk production too.”
My fork hit the plate with a loud bang as I pushed it away, done with breakfast.
“Don’t call me sweetheart. I hate it. And I already told you I’m not a milk-factory. They sell baby formula at the store, so if you’re unhappy with my services, feel free to buy some.”
Tucker pulled the seat next to me and angled himself so we’d face each other. He grabbed my hands in his, and even though the gesture repulsed me, I exhaled and plastered a fake smile on my lips, trying to not start another war. Yeah, war. Because all we did lately was argue.
“Since when do you hate me calling you sweetheart? You never complained before.” He tipped my chin up with a finger, encouraging me to watch him. “I think we should make an appointment with your physician, just to make sure everything is fine.”
I sprang to my feet and jerked away from his touch. It felt as if millions of needles were prickling my flesh every time our skin connected.
“I’m okay. Exhausted maybe, but fine. No need to worry.” I went to get heels and my purse and applied some lipstick, looking at my reflection in the entryway mirror. Our place was beautiful. Wide windows, hardwood floors, archways. Everything I’d adored when we first moved in. Now I couldn’t care less about where we lived.
I smacked my lips together and fixed my hair, ready to bolt out of here.
Tucker joined me, a sleeping baby nestled in his embrace, alarm flashing in his dark eyes.
“Where are you going?”
“Work. I missed enough weeks already. I sent my boss an email two days ago, and he said I could come back whenever I was ready. Don’t wait for me. I may come home late. I have a lot of work to catch up on."
The baby woke up, and his blue eyes found mine. I cocked my head, wanting nothing else than to escape this prison I lived in.
Tucker’s broad shoulders blocked the doorway.
“Let me go,” I ordered.
“No.”
I folded my arms over my chest. “I gotta go. Move."
He handed me the baby. “Take him. Here and now, take your son. You haven’t entered his bedroom once since we came back from the hospital. You nursed him only a handful of times. And every time, your features are painted with disdain. You’ve never changed a diaper or given him his bottle yet.”
If I had steam coming out of my ears, Tucker would have been able to visualize how upset I was right now.
“You don’t kiss him, hold him, or comfort him. Never. Not once.”
“I’m tired,” I said.
“Stop. It’s your go-to excuse to justify you not bonding with him. Stop feeding yourself lies. I understand giving birth hasn’t been easy. In addition, you have to go through all these physical and psychological changes, and your hormones are all over the place. You’ve been bleeding for over two weeks straight too. It’s not easy. I’m aware. But that doesn’t explain why you’re not connecting with our son. Why you keep us at arm’s length.”
I shook my head as shame hung heavy on it. Why did I feel like such a failure right now? Why did I feel like I’d win the worst-mama-of-the-year award? Before Jamieson was born, I was looking forward to be a mother. I had always been envious of Dahlia and Jack, and I’d been wishing to be a mama for as long as I could remember. But the images I’d pictured in my head looked nothing like the real thing.
I’d always thought I’d be the mother taking long walks through the park, happy to push a stroller around. I believed breastfeeding in my bed, lying on my side like those pictures in maternity brochures, playing dress-up with my little one, and singing lullabies every night would make me happy.
Nope. Reality looked nothing like those fantasies.
“My breasts weigh tons. My nipples are too sensitive. I have to wear absorbable, thick granny panties. The skin of my belly is still saggy. My hair is falling. The shadows under my eyes aren’t fading. You can’t relate to any of these things. I’m the one who carried him for nine months. Who thought I would be getting torn in two when he finally got out of me? Through my fucking vagina. After over twenty-four hours of unbearable pain. How would you understand any of this, Tuck? Enlighten me. Sorry if I am not jumping around with overflowing joy. Not that I could, anyway. My bladder is probably screwed as we speak. Get in line if you wanna wreck my existence too.”
Right then, I just emptied all the gloomy thoughts that had been swirling in my head for weeks now.
After I gave birth, I fell in love with our baby. Hard. I would’ve given my life for him. Hours later, a distance had grown between us. After we got discharged from the hospital, I’d convinced myself it was normal to feel a bit out of it after what I went through. Thanks to a new set of hormones, my emotions went crazy. I was exhausted, crying for nothing and everything, and sore. Then we got home, and that gap widened. Before I could comprehend the reason, all the excitement of being a mother died in the routine. And I lost the connection I shared with the baby. I didn’t recognize him as a part of me anymore.
I slept for longer hours, trying to go back to the blissful state I’d experienced at first. In vain. The more days passed, the more lost I became. And larger the distance between the baby and me.
Now he felt like a stranger. Not the one I carried around for nine months. Not the precious little in-construction human being who kicked my stomach and whose knees and elbows I pushed back when they pressed against my taut skin. The baby resembled Tucker and me in the best of ways, yet I felt nothing while around him. No, all I felt was emptiness. And the desire to get the hell out of here.
Tucker lifted the baby against his torso, rubbing his tiny back. Deep down, I prayed to be as much of a hands-on parent as he was because I could perceive my husband was doing a remarkable job so far. He was a natural. This man turned out to be the most amazing father.
But right now, it didn’t seem important.
His lips descended to kiss the fluffy dark hair of the baby. No, I couldn’t say his name. No matter how hard I tried, it refused to cross my lips.
“Addison, we’re having this talk right now. Why didn’t you confide in me? I’ve been patient and have given you space, but it is getting worse every day. The more you close up on yourself, the harder it will be to get out of your shell. I’m not going anywhere, Wilde. So, better get used to having me around and in your business because I’m not letting go this time. Perhaps you really can’t see it, but I know you. And this”—his finger motioned to the length of me—“isn’t you. I’m not asking you to be a perfect parent, but I need to at least see you try. Now you’re not even doing shit-anything. Sorry, Jamieson. You can’t fail at being a parent because you’re not doing it. All you do is stay out of it, keep a distance. Completely. I heard everything you said. And you’re right, I didn’t deliver a baby or carry one around. And I can’t understand how leaking tits feel. But I’m willing to learn and to put myself out there. Whatever else is bothering you, please talk to me about it.” His tone hardened. “In case you still have doubts about me and my involvement, I won’t let you down. You better be honest with me. Truth, remember?”
I wished I could cry, the emptiness inside growing deeper with every passing second, but even the tears refused to come.
Tucker brushed my hair with a gentle hand. “I’ll put him in bed. Wait for me, don’t go. Gimme a minute.” He paused. “Okay?”
I huffed and nodded, walking back toward the kitchen. I filled a cup with a dose of caffeine—I’d never been that much of a coffee drinker, but now it had become my drug of choice. The idea to add a little pick-me-up to my cup crossed my mind, but I didn’t have the energy to reach for the liquor cabinet by the back door. Why were all these thoughts popping into my mind? Now I was considering adding booze to my morning drink. Great. Tucker refused to turn into his parents, but so far, I was the one about to score high in the bad-mother charts.
My husband came back and sat next to me, stopping my train of gloomy thoughts.
I hoped I could see hatred in his eyes. Or fury. So, I’d feel something. But all I read were love and concern.
Neither of us spoke for a long minute.
I sucked in a jagged breath, breaking the tense silence.
“Back when we started hanging out together, we said truth always. Here’s the thing. I don’t love him, Tuck. I know I’m not supposed to say that, but that’s the truth. When I look at him, I feel nothing, except for maybe annoyance and disdain. He’s only crying or sucking at my tits. I need a freaking break. Some fresh air away from him. He’s always in my space. I’m suffocating. I got some time to think, and I feel I wasn’t meant to be a mother. You’re way better at it than I am. So, kudos. You win in whatever this is between us. And I won’t argue with ya. You wanna spend time with him, deal with all his needs? Fine, go ahead. But I’m not gonna do it. And I want nothing to do with all this baby crap. Happy now? I’ve put all my darkest secrets on the table. Can I go?”
How could all these words exit my own mouth?
When did I become a robot, unable to feel anything?
I moved to get up, but his muscular hands kept me seated.
“Babe, I know you’re not serious. You’re not speaking with your heart right now. Nobody said having a baby would be easy. That you’d get everything right on the first attempt. For god’s sake, I’ve ruined a dozen diapers, and shit spread everywhere before I figured out how to put it on the proper way. And every once in a while, I forget to burp him after he’s finished with his bottle. But I don’t pretend to claim I’m perfect at it. But I’m doing my fucking best. I’m trying. I’m putting myself out there.”
“You don’t get it, do you? I don’t care. I prefer going back to work than spending more time at home. I feel useless. And I’m not interested in the job. I just want to be left alone."
How could Tucker be so good at being a hands-on parent? How could he connect in the same way I disconnected with the baby?
I always thought mothers were instinctively better at nursing their children and understanding their needs.
Why was I so incapable of loving the baby the way he deserved to be loved?
Why was Tucker doing a better job than I since day one?
Warmth enveloped my chest. Awesome. Now my breasts were leaking, and I was soaked. I was uncomfortable and sore.
I crooked a finger to pull my bra away from my chest to give my breasts some room. A new feeling of failure coiled around me.
I wanted to tell Tucker he was right. Because a part of me knew he was. But those confessions died at the tip of my tongue.
I had turned into the worst version of myself I could be.
Darkness swirled in my brain. Tiredness washed over me.
Unable to stand any longer, I kicked my heels.
“Happy now? I won’t go to work because I’m already too tired to even get there. I’ve turned into a sloth. Even pregnant at thirty-seven weeks, I had more energy. I could have run a marathon. Or built a house. Now it’s fucking hard just to get out of bed or take a shower. And that sound. Gosh. That high-pitched sound he makes when he cries for no reason, it gets on my last nerve.”
Tears should have come. They should have flooded my face. But no, they refused to show up. Instead, anger bubbled inside me.
Tucker pulled me against his chest. The same way he had always done every time I needed his love and confidence in me in the past. But just now his arms around me were fuel for murder.
I pushed him away, but he just tightened his squeeze.
“Stop. Relax. I miss you, Wilde. So damn much. You’re pushing both of us away when you should lean on us instead. To get through whatever you’re going through. Jamieson and I, we love you. And all we want is for you to get better. To come back to us instead of living a parallel life like you’re there but not there at the same time. It’s too soon for you to go back to work. I object.”
“No. It’s not your call. I’ll be happier there. Being here is asking too much from me. I told ya already. And the baby—no, I’m no mother material.”
“Addison, Jamieson is your son.”
“Maybe. But I didn’t choose to be a mama. It just happened. And I blame you.”
“Okay, so now I’m guilty of the best thing that has ever happened to us.”
“I don’t have a dick, so I didn’t put him inside me on my own. The semen was yours. Can I go now? There’s a happy hour after work tonight. Don’t wait up for me.”
“Wilde...”
“Don’t Wilde me. If you wanna be a father so bad, just take care of him yourself. After all, he’s your child too. See that as bonding time. All books I read say it’s important for the father to get involved in the child’s life from the beginning. Go ahead. Enjoy your time together. I’m out of here.”
“No.”
“Why do you make everything so complicated? You should just let me go.”
“Never. You’re stuck with me forever. Remember those vows? Because I do. Addison Wilde, in front of our best friends, I promise to love and cherish you forever. You’re my soulmate, my other half, my best friend. When you have doubts or are afraid, I’ll be by your side, holding your hand. Together, we’re it, sweetheart. We can face anything. We can be anyone we want. We can accomplish great things. I love you. Here, always and forever.”
The first tear hung from my lower lash as Tucker recited his wedding vows. My heart cracked. Breathing became harder. Wrecking sobs escaped as my husband held me against him.
“Shhh. Cry it out. It’s okay. I’m here, and I’ve got you.”
I shattered in his embrace. I’d poured my heart out to him, and nothing about it made me feel better. Only worse.
My own words replayed in my head. I don’t love him, Tuck. I know I’m not supposed to say that, but that’s the truth. When I look at him, I feel nothing, except for maybe annoyance and disdain.
How did this even come out of my mouth?
Who was I? What had happened to me?
Lucidity and shame hit me all at once.
Tucker and the baby would be better off without me.
I had already failed them so much in just a few weeks. No newborn deserved a shitty mother. A mother like me. A mother who just couldn’t care.
When Tucker’s arms slackened around my shoulders and my tears ran out, I rushed to our bedroom and locked the door behind me. With my back pressed against the wall, I pondered my options. I had very few choices. And the only one that made sense told me to run. To set them free from me. To get the hell out of here.
Tucker turned the knob. “Addison, let me in. We’re not done.”
I wiped the tear residues off my face with my sleeve and swallowed the giant lump at the back of my throat.
The baby started crying, and I thanked him in my head for forcing Tucker to leave me alone.
“I’ll be back.”
I breathed easier.
“Shit,” I heard him say under his breath before he added, “coming, sweet guy. Missing me already?” The softness lacing his voice, the tenderness, the love, I wished I could master that too.
Left to myself, I grabbed a bag from the closet and filled it with basic necessities. I changed into sweatpants and put tennis shoes on.
Tiptoeing out of the room, I reached the entryway, slid my purse over my shoulder, and penned a note on a piece of paper.
I’m sorry. You’ll both be better off without me.
Addi
I removed my wedding band and placed it on the console after kissing it.
A split second before the door closed behind me, my husband’s panicked voice resonated from inside our home. “Wilde, wait—"
Once on the sidewalk, I sauntered away fast, almost at a running pace, as I made my way toward the nearest train station. I had no clue where I’d go, but anywhere far from here seemed like a safe choice.
I walked for minutes, or maybe hours. At one point, I had no idea where I was, lost in my drowning thoughts. The sun shone at its zenith in the blue sky, and I kept my head low to avoid being blinded by the sunrays. A car slowed beside me, but I ignored it.
“Addison Wilde, get in the car. Now,” Tucker’s harsh voice spoke. “Enough with the running away. You told me once you’d never do that again.” I kept my eyes trained forward, refusing to meet his gaze.
“Addison, we’ll get you help. You’re usually a bubbly, crazy number, and these days, you’re a shadow of yourself. Can’t you see something is off?”
I kept my mouth shut, refusing to acknowledge any of his words.
“My mom left. She ruined me for the longest time. Until you came along. I won’t let you do this to our son. Never, woman. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out, but you won’t leave him like that. And you’re certainly not leaving me either. We’re a team. None of this makes sense. Get in the car.”
I continued. And just then I realized I’d been walking in a circle. Great.
Tucker passed me and parked on the side of the road. He jumped out of the car to meet me, gripping my upper arms as I averted my eyes.
“Where do you think you’re going? What do you think you’re doing? Enough now. Get. In. The. Car.”
From the corner of my eye, I noticed the baby watching me through the window from his car seat. His big blue eyes fused with mine. He smiled at me, unaware of all the commotion around us, as if I mattered to him. How could he? I hadn’t been his mother in so long. Like ever. But still, he didn’t break eye contact, as if to tell me he believed in me or something. Hurt stabbed my heart. And for the first time since we left the hospital, something passed between us. Something I couldn’t name. Except it brought fresh tears to my eyes.
Tucker caught me just when I thought I’d crumple on the sidewalk, drained.
“Wilde, I’ve got you. Here, lean on me. Come back home. Come back to us.”
The baby let out a loud, happy cry as if he agreed. Could he really sense everything going on? Could he feel me fading away?
“Will you accept my help?” Tucker asked, his arms tight around me, and his mouth kissing the top of my head.
I nodded.
I had almost left my baby. I had almost walked away from my own life. From my heart.
“Tomorrow you could go to the spa, get pampered, and catch up on some rest. I called your doctor. He’d like to see you next week. Pregnancy is hard and delivery, harder. And you’re exhausting yourself. You don’t have to return to work so early. We talked about it. We have enough money for you to take time off, to enjoy Jamieson’s first few months. For us to be a family.”
I held on to him like a lifeline. “Don’t lose faith in me. Please. Don’t—” And once again, I became a sobbing mess as my husband hugged me before helping me inside our car and buckling my seatbelt, my hand shaky and my body too numb to take care of itself.