Part 8
Nathan swayed awkwardly.
“It’s all right,” he whispered. “I know. I’m late.”
Elena watched from the bed.
He did not ask what to do.
He checked the feeding note, changed Clara, warmed a bottle they prepared together, and sat in the chair by the window. His movements were slower than Margaret’s and less certain. He dropped a burp cloth, cursed under his breath, apologized to the baby, and picked it up with his foot because he did not want to shift her.
A small laugh escaped Elena.
Nathan looked over.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“I heard you.”
“You looked ridiculous.”
“I am improvising.”
“You have been a father for six weeks.”
“That is six weeks of improvising.”
The moment was almost normal.
Then Elena saw the bottle in his hand and remembered the blue label on the recording.
Her smile disappeared.
Nathan noticed.
He set the bottle down once Clara finished and brought the baby to the bed.
“You don’t have to pretend the good minute fixed the bad one,” he said.
“I know.”
He placed Clara in the bassinet and sat beside Elena.
“I keep thinking about the way Margaret looked when I walked in,” he said. “Relieved.”
“She knew you would believe her.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I already had.”
Elena turned toward him.
Nathan rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Last week she told me you were checking the monitor too often.”
“She told you?”
“She said the light from the phone might keep you awake.”
“What did you say?”
“That I would talk to you.”
“You never did.”
“No.”
“What else?”
He looked ashamed.
“Nathan.”
“She said your anxiety was interfering with her ability to establish a routine.”
“And?”
“I asked whether she thought we should increase her hours.”
Elena sat up.
“When?”
“Monday.”
“You were going to hire her for more time because she said I interfered with my own baby’s care?”
“I thought you needed rest.”
“You did not ask me.”
“I planned to.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
“After arranging it?”
“I requested her availability. I did not change the schedule.”
Elena got off the bed and crossed to the windows.
Below, traffic moved along the avenue, small white headlights threading through rain.
“You discussed me with her.”
“Yes.”
“About my mental state.”
“Yes.”
“Without telling me.”
“I thought I was helping.”
“That sentence should be forbidden in this house.”
Nathan flinched.
Elena folded her arms around herself.
“What exactly did she say?”
“That you were hypervigilant. That you had difficulty separating normal newborn behavior from warning signs. That uninterrupted sleep might help.”
“Those things may be true.”
“I know.”
She turned.
Nathan immediately shook his head. “I did not mean—”
“They are true. I am hypervigilant. I do struggle to know what is normal. Sleep would help. None of that makes secret discussions acceptable.”
“No.”
“Did she suggest I was dangerous?”
“No. Never.”
“Unstable?”
“She did not use that word.”
“What word did she use?”
“Fragile.”
Elena looked back at the city.
Fragile.
The word fit too many recent moments. Crying in the pantry because the bottle sterilizer beeped. Standing over the bassinet until her back hurt. Calling Nathan during a meeting because Clara’s hand looked pale under the lamp.
She had felt fragile.
She had not known the word was being circulated inside her own home.
“I told her you were stronger than you felt,” Nathan said.
“That does not help.”
“I know.”
“No, you keep saying that after telling me something you hid.”
He stood but did not approach.
“What do you want me to say?”
“The truth before I drag it out of you.”
He took a breath.
“I was afraid your anxiety was getting worse. I did not know how to talk to you without making you feel judged. Margaret seemed to know what she was doing. I asked her whether what we were experiencing was normal.”
“And she diagnosed our marriage.”
“She gave advice.”
“She built authority by making you doubt me.”
“Yes.”
The immediate agreement stopped Elena again.
Nathan looked at the bassinet.
“I let her,” he said.
Clara slept between them.
At three in the morning, Elena finally lay down. Nathan remained in the chair beside the bassinet with the monitor in his hand.
She woke forty minutes later to the sound of him crying quietly.
He had turned his face away.
Elena watched without speaking.
She wanted to comfort him. She also wanted him to sit inside the consequences without being rescued by the person he had failed.
Both desires existed.
She closed her eyes again.
In the morning, their pediatrician called.
Dr. Feld asked them to bring Clara in, along with the product labels and feeding notes. She did not suggest panic. She did not minimize the breach. Her calmness felt different from Margaret’s because it left room for questions.
At the clinic, Clara was examined and found to be doing well.
The doctor reviewed the formulas and said both were standard infant products, but switching without the parents’ knowledge violated the agreed care plan and made it difficult to assess patterns accurately. Any changes should have been discussed.
“Could it have harmed her?” Elena asked.
“There is no indication that it did.”
“That isn’t the same as no.”
“No,” Dr. Feld said. “It isn’t.”
Nathan sat beside Elena with Clara’s carrier between them.
“What should we watch for?” he asked.
The doctor gave practical guidance, then looked at Elena.
“How are you sleeping?”
Elena almost laughed.
“Badly.”
“Before last night?”
“Also badly.”
“Are you having thoughts that frighten you?”
The question was gentle and direct.
Elena looked at Nathan.
He kept his eyes on the doctor, not trying to answer for her.
May you like
“No thoughts of hurting myself or Clara,” Elena said. “I worry constantly. I check her breathing. Sometimes I cannot sleep even when someone else has her.”
Dr. Feld nodded. “That is worth support. Not because it invalidates what you saw. Both things can be true. The caregiver breached your trust, and you may also be experiencing postpartum anxiety.”
