The third week, Christabel went back to therapy.
Not because she wanted to.
Because she was tired of being afraid.
---
The first session had opened something inside her. A crack. A small one. Just enough for her to see that there was light on the other side of the darkness.
She hadn't wanted to go back.
Had told herself that one session was enough. That she could handle the rest on her own. That she didn't need to sit in a stranger's office and talk about feelings she couldn't name.
But Damien had looked at her that morning – really looked at her – and said, "You're still scared."
"I'm always scared."
"I know." He touched her face. "That's why you need to go back."
---
The therapist's name was Dr. Ellen Reid.
She was in her fifties. Gray hair. Kind eyes. The kind of face that made you want to tell her things you hadn't told anyone.
Christabel sat on the couch.
The same couch she had sat on a week ago.
The same position. The same angle. The same fear curling in her chest.
"How have you been?" Dr. Reid asked.
"Fine."
"You said that last time."
"Because it's true."
"It wasn't true last time."
Christabel was quiet.
"The baby is sleeping better," she said finally.
"That's good."
"She slept four hours straight two nights ago."
"That's very good."
"But you're not sleeping."
It wasn't a question.
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because every time I close my eyes, I'm afraid she's going to stop breathing."
---
Dr. Reid nodded.
Made a note.
"That's a common fear. New mothers often worry about SIDS. About not hearing the baby cry. About waking up to find—"
"I know what I'm afraid of." Christabel's voice was sharp. "I don't need you to explain it to me."
"Then tell me."
"Tell you what?"
"What you need."
Christabel was quiet for a long moment.
The city hummed below the window.
The clock on the wall ticked.
"I need to stop being afraid," she said finally.
"And how do you think you can do that?"
"I don't know." Her voice cracked. "That's why I'm here."
---
Dr. Reid leaned forward.
"You've been through a lot. The birth was traumatic. Your body is still healing. Your hormones are still regulating. You're not sleeping. You're not eating. You're trying to keep a tiny human alive while also trying to remember who you are."
"That's not an answer."
"It's not a question." Dr. Reid smiled. "I'm not here to give you answers, Christabel. I'm here to help you find your own."
"How?"
"By listening. By asking questions. By helping you hear yourself think."
"I don't want to think."
"What do you want?"
Christabel looked at her.
"I want to feel like myself again."
---
The session lasted an hour.
Christabel talked about the birth. About the fear. About the moments when she looked at Lena and felt nothing but terror.
She talked about Damien. About the way he held her. About the way he didn't try to fix her. About the way he just stayed.
She talked about her mother. About the woman who had raised her. About the fear of becoming her.
"I don't want to be like her," Christabel said.
"You're not."
"How do you know?"
"Because you're here. Because you're asking for help. Because you're trying."
---
When the session ended, Christabel walked to the nursery.
Damien was there. Lena was in his arms. Both of them were looking out the window.
"How was it?" he asked.
"Hard."
"Did it help?"
"I don't know."
She walked to him.
Took Lena from his arms.
Held her daughter against her chest.
"I'm trying," she whispered. "I'm trying so hard."
Lena cooed.
"I know," Christabel said. "You don't understand. You're too small. But one day you will. And I need you to know that I tried."
---
That afternoon, Sarah came again.
She didn't bring food this time. She brought herself.
"How are you?" Sarah asked.
"Tired."
"More than tired?"
"I don't know."
Sarah sat on the couch.
Pulled Christabel down beside her.
"You don't have to be okay," Sarah said. "You just have to be here."
"I'm here."
"Then that's enough."
---
They sat in silence for a while.
The city hummed below them.
Lena slept in the nursery.
"I'm afraid I'm going to mess her up," Christabel said.
"You're not."
"How do you know?"
"Because I watched our mother mess us up." Sarah took her hand. "And you're nothing like her."
"She was sick."
"She was cruel. There's a difference."
Christabel was quiet.
"I don't want to be cruel."
"You're not."
"How do you know?"
"Because you're afraid of being cruel. Cruel people aren't afraid of anything."
---
Damien found them on the couch.
Christabel was asleep. Her head was on Sarah's shoulder. Sarah was watching the city through the window.
"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."
---
That night, Lena slept for five hours.
Christabel woke before the baby again.
Panicked again.
Damien was already at the crib.
"She's breathing," he said. "She's fine. Go back to sleep."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because every time I close my eyes, I see her not breathing."
He walked to her.
Took her hands.
"Then don't close your eyes. Just rest."
"I can't rest."
"You can."
"I can't."
"Christabel."
She looked at him.
"I'm tired," she said.
"I know."
"I'm so tired."
He pulled her into his arms.
"Then let me carry you."
---
He led her to the bed.
Lay down beside her.
Pulled her close.
"Close your eyes," he said.
"I can't."
"Just try."
She closed her eyes.
"I can still see her."
"Then see her. See her breathing. See her sleeping. See her safe."
"What if she's not safe?"
"She is."
"How do you know?"
"Because I'm watching her."
She opened her eyes.
Looked at him.
"You're watching her?"
"I'm always watching her."
"You can't watch her all the time."
"I can." He kissed her forehead. "And I will."
---
She fell asleep in his arms.
Not a deep sleep. Not the kind that restored her body or quieted her mind.
But sleep.
And sleep was something.
---
The next morning, Lena woke at dawn.
Not crying.
Cooing.
Christabel went to her.
Lifted her from the crib.
Held her against her chest.
"Good morning, little one," she said.
Lena smiled.
"You're happy today."
Lena cooed.
"I'm not happy," Christabel said. "But I'm trying. That's something, right?"
Lena grabbed her finger.
Held on tight.
"Yeah," Christabel said. "That's something."
---
Damien found them in the nursery.
Christabel was sitting in the rocking chair. Lena was nursing. Both of them were looking out the window.
"You're up early," he said.
"I couldn't sleep."
"The baby?"
"No." She looked at him. "Me."
He sat on the floor beside the rocking chair.
Leaned his head against her knee.
"Talk to me."
"I don't know what to say."
"Then don't say anything."
They sat in silence.
The sun rose over the city.
Lena finished nursing. Fell asleep against Christabel's chest.
"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."