The first week home was nothing like Christabel had imagined.
She had pictured quiet nights. Peaceful feedings. Long hours spent staring at her daughter's perfect face while the world outside faded away.
Instead, there was blood.
Not the baby's. Hers.
The birth had been hard. Faster than expected. Harder than anyone had prepared her for. Her body was sore in ways she didn't know bodies could be sore. Every time she stood up, she felt like she might fall down. Every time she walked to the nursery, she had to hold onto the wall.
"You need to rest," Damien said.
"I need to take care of her."
"The nurses said—"
"I don't care what the nurses said."
She was sitting on the edge of the bed. Lena was in her arms, nursing, her tiny mouth latched onto Christabel's breast with a ferocity that surprised her.
"You're bleeding," Damien said.
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine."
"I'm fine."
He knelt in front of her.
Touched her face.
"You're allowed to not be fine."
She looked at him.
Her eyes were wet.
"I don't know how to do this."
"Do what?"
"Be a mother. Be your wife. Be myself."
"You don't have to know." He kissed her forehead. "You just have to keep going."
---
Lena finished nursing.
Fell asleep against Christabel's chest.
Her tiny body was warm. Her breath was soft. Her fingers were curled into tiny fists.
"She's so small," Christabel whispered.
"She's perfect."
"I'm afraid I'm going to break her."
"You won't."
"How do you know?"
"Because she's yours." He touched Lena's cheek. "And you're the strongest person I know."
---
The first night was the hardest.
Lena woke every hour. Crying. Hungry. Wet. Cold. Every time Christabel closed her eyes, the baby cried again.
Damien stayed awake with her.
Not because he could help. Because he refused to sleep while she was suffering.
"You need rest," she said.
"So do you."
"I'm her mother."
"And I'm her father." He took Lena from her arms. "Go to sleep. I've got her."
"You don't know what you're doing."
"Neither do you."
She laughed.
The sound was tired and broken and real.
"Okay," she said. "One hour."
"Two."
"One."
"Two."
She lay down.
Closed her eyes.
Was asleep in seconds.
---
Damien walked the nursery with Lena in his arms.
Back and forth. Back and forth.
The floorboards creaked. The city hummed beyond the windows.
"You're a lot of trouble for someone so small," he said.
Lena cried.
"I know," he said. "You don't care. You just want what you want."
She cried harder.
"I'm not your mother," he said. "I don't have what you want. But I'm here. And I'm not leaving."
She stopped crying.
Looked at him.
Her dark eyes. Her tiny fingers. Her soft, perfect face.
"That's right," he said. "I'm your father. I'm going to be here for all of it. The good. The bad. The crying in the middle of the night."
She yawned.
"That's fair," he said. "You don't have to understand yet. You just have to sleep."
---
She slept for two hours.
Damien sat in the rocking chair, holding her, watching the city lights flicker through the windows.
When Christabel woke, she found them there.
"Two hours," she said.
"Two hours."
"She slept?"
"She slept."
"How?"
"I don't know. I just... held her."
She walked to him.
Sat on the floor beside the rocking chair.
Leaned her head against his knee.
"I don't know what I'm doing," she said.
"Neither do I."
"We're going to mess her up."
"Probably."
"She's going to need therapy."
"Definitely."
They laughed.
And for a moment, the exhaustion faded.
---
The second day, Christabel's sister came.
Sarah brought food. Flowers. The kind of practical help that only someone who had been through this herself could offer.
"You look terrible," Sarah said.
"Thanks."
"You're not sleeping."
"I'm sleeping."
"You're lying."
"I'm lying."
Sarah sat on the couch beside her.
Took her hand.
"It gets easier."
"When?"
"Not for a while."
"That's not helpful."
"I know." Sarah squeezed her hand. "But it's true. The first few weeks are survival. You're not trying to be a good mother. You're trying to keep everyone alive."
"I'm failing at that too."
"You're not." Sarah looked at her. "You're here. The baby's here. Damien's here. That's success."
---
Damien found them on the couch.
Sarah was holding Lena. Christabel was asleep, her head on her sister's shoulder.
"She's exhausted," Sarah said.
"I know."
"She's not going to admit it."
"I know."
"She's going to try to do everything herself."
"I know."
Sarah looked at him.
"Don't let her."
"I won't."
---
The third day, Christabel tried to clean the kitchen.
She made it as far as the sink before the bleeding started again.
Damien found her there.
Leaning against the counter.
Her face pale.
Her hands shaking.
"What are you doing?"
"Cleaning."
"The doctors said—"
"I don't care what the doctors said."
He walked to her.
Took the sponge from her hand.
"The kitchen doesn't need to be cleaned."
"It's dirty."
"It can wait."
"I can't wait."
"Why not?"
She looked at him.
Her eyes were wild.
"Because if I stop, I'll fall apart."
---
He pulled her into his arms.
Held her tight.
"Then fall apart," he said.
"What?"
"Fall apart. I'll catch you."
"I can't."
"You can."
"I'm supposed to be strong."
"You're supposed to be human." He pulled back. Looked at her. "And humans fall apart sometimes. That's not weakness. That's honesty."
She cried.
Not the silent tears he was used to.
The kind that came from somewhere deep.
Somewhere she had been hiding for months.
"I'm scared," she said.
"I know."
"I'm scared I'm not going to be a good mother."
"You're already a good mother."
"I'm scared I'm going to mess her up."
"You're not."
"I'm scared you're going to realize you made a mistake."
He touched her face.
"The only mistake I made was not finding you sooner."
---
The fourth day, Lena smiled.
Not a gas smile. A real one.
Christabel was feeding her. The baby pulled away from the breast. Looked up at her mother. And smiled.
"Damien," Christabel whispered.
He was across the room.
"What?"
"Come here."
He walked to her.
Looked down at his daughter.
"She's smiling," Christabel said.
"She's smiling at you."
"She's smiling at both of us."
Lena smiled again.
Damien felt something crack inside his chest.
"Hi, baby," he said.
Lena cooed.
"I love you," he said. "I love you so much."
---
The fifth day, Christabel took a shower.
The first real shower since the birth.
Hot water. Steam. The smell of soap and shampoo and the kind of cleanliness that felt like a luxury.
Damien sat in the bathroom with her.
Not because he wanted to. Because she asked him to.
"I don't want to be alone," she said.
"You're not alone."
"I feel alone."
He sat on the floor.
His back against the wall.
The shower curtain was translucent. He could see her silhouette. The curve of her body. The way she leaned against the tile.
"I'm here," he said.
"I know."
"I'm not going anywhere."
"I know."
"Then why do you feel alone?"
She was quiet for a moment.
"Because I don't know who I am anymore."
---
The sixth day, Damien called the doctor.
Not for Lena.
For Christabel.
"She's not sleeping," he said. "She's not eating. She's crying all the time."
"The baby blues," the doctor said.
"It's more than that."
"Postpartum depression is common. We can help."
"She won't admit there's a problem."
"Then you need to help her admit it."
"How?"
"By being patient. By being present. By not giving up on her."
---
The seventh day, Christabel woke before Lena.
Not because the baby was crying.
Because she couldn't sleep.
She walked to the nursery.
Stood over the crib.
Lena was sleeping. Her tiny chest rose and fell. Her fingers were curled around the edge of her blanket.
"I love you," Christabel whispered.
Lena didn't stir.
"I love you so much it terrifies me." Her voice cracked. "I'm afraid I'm not going to be enough for you. I'm afraid you're going to grow up and realize that your mother was broken."
Damien appeared in the doorway.
"You're not broken."
She turned.
"How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough."
"You heard everything?"
"I heard everything."
He walked to her.
Took her hands.
"You're not broken," he said again. "You're healing. There's a difference."
"I don't feel like I'm healing."
"You don't have to feel it. You just have to keep going."
"And if I can't?"
"Then I'll carry you."
---
She leaned her head on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry," she said.
"For what?"
"For being like this. For not being stronger."
"You're the strongest person I know."
"I don't feel strong."
"You don't have to feel strong." He kissed her forehead. "You just have to be here."
She looked at him.
"I'm here."
"Then that's enough."
---
Lena woke.
Crying.
Christabel lifted her from the crib.
Held her against her chest.
"Good morning, little one," she said.
Lena cried.
"I know," Christabel said. "It's hard. Everything is hard right now. But we're going to figure it out. Together."
Lena stopped crying.
Looked up at her mother.
Her dark eyes. Her tiny fingers. Her soft, perfect face.
"That's right," Christabel said. "I'm your mother. I'm going to make mistakes. I'm going to fall apart sometimes. But I'm never going to stop loving you."
Lena smiled.
Christabel cried.
Damien put his arm around both of them.
"This is us," he said.
"This is us," Christabel agreed.
"Broken. Healing. Together."
She looked at him.
"Yes," she said. "Together."