One more look

It was the worst day of my life and everybody was useless. All they could say was:

“It will get better.”

“Time will heal.”

“You’ll be okay.”

What a load of bullshit.

That’s all I could think listening to their platitudes. What did they know? They didn’t know what it was like inside my head, they didn’t have a god damn clue. They don’t tell you about the nights you will lie awake because every time you close your eyes you relive it all over again. They don’t tell you how quiet your house will be after you’ve spent nine months expecting to hear the cries of a newborn baby. They tell you that ‘it will be okay’ because they just don’t know what else to say. It just feels patronising. Empty words to fill the awkward silence. I wish somebody had just told the truth. Told me it was going to hurt. Told me some mornings I wouldn’t want to get out of bed. Or couldn’t get out of bed. Just told me that it’s going to be hard.

Then there was Josh, my husband. I love him. I do but he was no help at all. I know he was hurting. Of course he was, he lost her as well. But every time he told me he understood I wanted to scream. I wanted to hurt him like I was hurting. He didn’t understand, how could he? I’m the one who carried another human life inside me for nine months, feeling every kick, every movement. I’m the one who felt her go still whilst inside me. Josh lost his daughter, yes, but I lost more. I lost a part of me. He could never know what that truly felt like no matter how many times he tells me he understands.

That was six weeks ago. Now, most nights are the same. I find myself staring at the baby monitor, watching the empty crib in the untouched nursery. We used neutral colours as we didn’t know the sex. We didn’t want to until birth. The walls are painted a pale yellow and the crib is just a flat-pack one from IKEA. Nothing special, but it’s hers. The clothes are still folded in the drawers I had put them in. An unopened packet of nappies sits on top of the changing table. We haven’t spoken about what to do with any of it. I don’t want to.

Josh has caught me looking at the baby monitor a few times since it happened and thinks it’s unhealthy. Maybe he’s right, maybe it is. He caught me again tonight.

“You checked ten minutes ago.”

“I know.”

I promised to put it down and try and get some sleep. What he doesn’t know is I’ve been checking every ten to fifteen minutes as soon as he falls asleep. I know what I’m going to see whenever I look, but somehow not checking feels wrong. Like I’ve abandoned her, forgotten about her. I’ve lost count how many times I’ve told him I’m not ready to put it away. I don’t know if I ever will be.

Every time I look, that empty crib stares back at me. The time at the bottom of the monitor now says 3:00 AM. I tell myself this will be the last time I’m going to look tonight before I try and get some sleep. The mobile above the crib is moving.

Impossible.

A cold shiver runs up my spine, the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Maybe I’ve left the window open and it’s just a draught. It has to be, it can’t be anything else. Still, I jolt out of bed and hurry towards the nursery, trying not to make a sound. My heart pounds harder in my chest. The door is open. How did I not notice that on the baby monitor a second ago? Did I leave it open when I went into the room earlier today? I quickly walk in and everything is normal, the mobile hovers over the crib, stationary. No breeze. The window is closed.

Slowly I walk over to the crib and reach for the mobile, giving one of the plastic stars a gentle push. It spins slowly above the mattress before coming to a stop.

God I feel stupid.

I must have imagined it or maybe the signal had glitched, making it seem like it had moved. Glancing around the room one last time I confirm that nothing is out of place. I go back to bed, and carefully climb back in, trying not to wake Josh. The monitor is back in my hands before my head even hits the pillow. Everything looks normal. I watch for a minute trying to see if anything happens before placing it down on my bedside table. Nothing does. I close my eyes to sleep. I open them almost immediately. I can’t get it out of my head.

I’m still asleep the next morning when Josh leaves for work but I’ve decided when he gets home I’m going to tell him what happened, what I saw. He probably won’t believe me anyway, but it’s still on my mind. It’s 12:00 PM before I finally drag myself out of bed and go downstairs to make a coffee. Turning to sit down at the kitchen island, I spot it. The baby monitor. I always keep it upstairs and only check it throughout the night so seeing it here feels out of place. I must have brought it down with me, although I can’t remember doing it. It makes sense, I suppose, with how I’m feeling.

I’ve made four cups of coffee and drunk half of one by the time Josh returns home at 5:30 PM. He looks just as tired as I feel. Though his tiredness isn’t from lack of sleep. Somehow, despite everything, he still manages to sleep well most nights. His exhaustion comes from work. He is a secondary school teacher. Early mornings, long days, paperwork, and dealing with teenagers all day take it out of him. I suppose it is a good distraction for him though. I think that’s how he’s coping. He throws his laptop bag down on the island, kisses me on the cheek and opens the fridge to look for a beer. Looking at him and ready to tell him, I realise maybe he isn’t coping as well as I thought.

“Babe, can I speak to you about something that happened last night?”

He looks at me, his eyes not really focused before he sees the baby monitor still sitting there. I’m sure he doesn’t mean to, but he lets out a sigh. Maybe unintentionally but this tells me all I need to know. He can’t be bothered right now.

“Of course. Can I sit down first though?”

I don’t want to lie to him or keep anything from him but now I know I can’t tell him.

“It’s nothing really. It’s just I didn’t really sleep last night because you were snoring so loud. It’s been bad for a while.”

He’s looking at me, one eyebrow raised. He can tell that this isn’t what I wanted to speak to him about but I continue anyway.

“Maybe we should look into a solution for it. I could really use the sleep.”

“Sure, it’s Saturday tomorrow. I’ll head into town and see if I can get anything to help with it. I know it’s been difficult for you these few weeks with everything that’s happened.”

“Happening.” I mutter under my breath. “Thanks.”

He does sound genuine, but there’s something else underneath it. Frustration perhaps.

“I’m going to have an early night. I’m showering then I’m going sleep.”

Great, an evening alone. I could tell him I want to spend time with him, cuddled up next to him and take my mind off everything that’s going on. I’ll just let him do what he wants.

“Okay, love you.”

I can hear the shower running upstairs and Josh walking between rooms, the floorboards creaking slightly under his weight as he goes. Picking up the baby monitor I head over to the couch, turning the television on. I don’t care what’s on. The distraction will be nice. I’m not going to look at the monitor again tonight, I think, as I place it face down on the table.

It’s not even been five minutes and it’s already in my hands, my eyes glued to the small screen. The nursery door is open again. I’m positive I closed it last night and I haven’t been in again today. I look closer at the screen, something is different. The blanket in the crib has moved, it’s bunched up against the side instead of folded neatly at the bottom where it was left. My heart sinking, I head towards the nursery, shouting as I go.

“Josh!”

No response.

“Josh!!”

Still nothing.

“JOSH!!!”

He swings the bathroom door open as I reach the top of the stairs, his body wet from the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist covering his lower half. A look of concern written across his face.

“What babe? What?” He’s more out of breath than me.

“Did you go into the nursery?”

He doesn’t answer straight away. He’s calming himself before he speaks, like I’m one of his students who’s misbehaved or asked something stupid.

“No. Of course I didn’t. You know.” His calmness falters for a second. “You know I don’t like to enter that room.”

That room. Why does he insist on not calling it her nursery? That’s what it is. Just because she’s not there doesn’t mean it’s any less true.

“Why?” He isn’t concerned any more. He looks more confused now.

“The monitor. The blanket has moved.”

“That’s not possible. You know it’s not possible. Unless you moved it. I haven’t been in the room.”

“Whatever. Go finish your shower and go to bed. I’ll go back downstairs.”

He turns away and goes back into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him maybe a little bit too aggressively. I don’t know if it’s intentional or not and I don’t care. I’m not going downstairs anyway, I’m going to the nursery. I walk in and look straight at the crib, the blanket has moved.

I was right

For a moment I just stand there staring at it, trying to remember if maybe I did move it when I was messing with the mobile last night. I fold the blanket neatly back up.

There, now I know exactly how I left it.

Over the next two nights, things get worse. I tell myself I’m only checking because of what happened with the mobile and blanket. That’s only partially true. I’m waiting for something else to happen. Wanting it to happen.

On the second night, something does. I’m looking at the monitor when I notice the mattress change shape, a small indent, almost the size of a newborn. I look away, look back and it’s gone. I still haven’t told Josh. I will though, when I can figure out a way to make him see sense.

By the next night, I’m checking the monitor even more than before. Not just a few minutes at a time every fifteen minutes. I’m not putting it down. As soon as Josh goes to sleep it’s straight into my hands. My eyes stay fixed on the crib when a sound comes through the monitor. For a second I don’t even realise what I’m hearing. I’d almost forgotten the thing had a speaker. It’s probably just static. I freeze, listen closer. It’s not static, it’s breathing. A slow, rhythmic breathing. I hold it closer to my ear and I can’t keep this to myself anymore. I have to tell him.

“Josh, wake up.”

He groans and turns away from me. He isn’t happy. To be fair I have just woken him up at 3:00 AM.

“Josh, listen to this please.”

Begrudgingly he looks at me, still half asleep. “Listen to what? I can just hear you.”

“No, the breathing. Can’t you hear it?”

His eyes jump from me to the monitor then back again. “I can’t hear anything.”

Pulling it up to my ear again, I can definitely hear breathing. I push it closer to him. My arm now outstretched, the monitor almost against his face.

“You haven’t slept in days. It’s probably just static.”

I can feel myself getting more agitated now, I can’t take this any longer. “No. No it’s not!” I snap at him. I didn’t mean to but I did and now I feel bad.

He just stares at me for a moment. He’s definitely awake now. I watch him as he stands up, not saying anything. I’d rather he shout back, it’s the least I deserve after reacting like that. He picks up his pillow and heads for the door.

“Josh, I’m sorry. Please.”

“It’s fine. Get some sleep. I’m sleeping downstairs. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He’s left the room and my mind’s telling me I should chase after him, get him to come back to bed, but my body is telling me to keep listening. I should be terrified that I can hear breathing from an empty room. But underneath the fear is something I didn’t expect. Hope. A thought I know is beyond ridiculous starts to creep into my head.

What if it’s her?

By morning the breathing had stopped. But the thought hasn’t. I can’t get it out of my head that it may actually have been her. My daughter. I carry the monitor everywhere now just waiting for the sound to come back. I’m even thinking about spending all day in her nursery just to see if I see anything. I saw Josh this morning briefly before he went to work but he didn’t speak to me. He barely even looked at me. I tried to apologise but he barely reacted, he grabbed his clothes, went downstairs and left.

Josh decided to sleep downstairs again. I’m now alone in bed with the monitor. For hours nothing happens. The breathing hasn’t come back, there is no movement in the crib. All I can hear is Josh’s snoring. He never did go into town. Then the blanket moves, not scrunched up in the corner like last time. It’s lying flat across the bottom of the crib and I can see the blanket rising slightly, then it falls. Something is underneath it. I sit up, bringing the monitor so close to my face. I’m almost touching it. A tiny hand slips out from beneath the blanket. I know it’s her. It’s my daughter. I don’t think. I drop the monitor onto the bed and I’m out of the room. Seconds later I’m over the crib.

The blanket hasn’t moved, it’s exactly where I left it. No baby, no tiny hand, nothing. I reach down and touch it, it’s cold. I move the blanket and place it in the same position as the monitor showed. It doesn’t change anything. I check beneath the crib. Behind the curtains. Anywhere I can look. Nothing.

I saw it, I saw her hand, it has to be real. I go back to the bedroom and reach for the monitor. The nursery is still there on the screen. So am I. I’m standing beside the crib, exactly where I was moments ago. My hands start to shake.

How is this possible?

This can’t be real. On the monitor I’m not moving, a woman is standing behind me. She’s dressed in all black, her pale face clear against the darkness of her clothes. In her arms is something wrapped in a blanket. A baby. My daughter. I scream louder than I’ve ever screamed in my life.

Footsteps sound up the stairs and Josh rushes into the room panting.

“What?! What’s happened?!”

“There’s someone in there. In the room.” I throw the monitor at him and he catches it, putting it up to get a better view. “There’s a woman in the nursery, she’s holding our daughter.”

“What?”

“The woman is holding our daughter.”

He walks over to me and places the monitor on my bedside table. He looks at me, the same way he looked at me when I lost her. Pity.

“Babe, there’s nothing there.”

“She’s right there!”

Josh continues to look at me, he doesn’t even bother glancing over at the monitor. I snatch it up. The nursery is still there, the woman is standing behind the crib holding the baby gently against her chest.

“You can’t see that?” I shove the monitor into his face and he just shakes his head at me.

“Listen to me.” His voice calm, too calm. “The camera isn’t on. It hasn’t been on for weeks.”

“What? Why are you saying that?”

“I unplugged it weeks ago. You became obsessed. I couldn’t take it anymore, I thought it would help you stop. Help you start to heal.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I did. I just want you to get better.”

“Get better? I’m not fucking sick, Josh. I’m hurting. I know what I can see. You’re lying.” I stand up, push past him and head straight to the nursery.

The cable hangs loose, unplugged. I stare at it. Josh says something behind me but I’m not listening. I look back down at the monitor, the nursery is still on the screen. The woman is gone. Maybe Josh is right. Maybe none of this is real. Then a shape moves towards the camera. Her face fills the screen, her eyes are fixed directly on mine. She smiles, showing uneven yellow teeth. I drop the monitor and Josh grabs my arm.

“There’s nothing here.”

The monitor lies face-up on the floor, the woman leans closer. Then, through the speaker of the unplugged monitor, a baby starts to cry. The crying stops and the woman looks directly at me and mouths three words.

“Let her go.”