Page 26 of Insidious

“No … It’s—” Her voice wavers. “It’s so gross.”

My heart hurts.

“Luna—”

“All of it,” she says, her voice dropping to a whisper, thick with humiliation. “The blood … the swelling … the folds … I’m—” She swallows hard. “I’m gross. All these loose folds.”

For a second, I just squat here looking at Luna, trying to get her to meet my eyes.

I take in the woman who carried our child. Who went through surgery. Who is sitting in front of me, broken open in ways I don’t know how to fix.

“You’re not,” I say, feeling inadequate.

It’s not enough. I know it’s not enough.

“You’re not gross, Luna. You are beautiful.”

She doesn’t look at me. And I realise she doesn’t believe me.

And I don’t know how to make her.

In the end, she lets me help her because there is no other choice. As I carry her back, I realise I need help to fix this. As soon as Luna lies down, she turns to her side, away from me. I wait for her breathing to even out before I creep closer and gingerly put an arm around her.

The next day, I ask Mum to come and help.

***

Mum starts coming every day. She’s been waiting to get her hands on her only grandchild. Cooking, helping, taking Amilie when Luna needs to rest.

She is good with her granddaughter, confident and experienced. But every time she holds Amelie, Luna changes. It is subtle, but I start noticing it more. The stiffness in her shoulders, which she then consciously relaxes. I see her hands tighten into little fists, and a little crease appears on her forehead for just a minute before it smooths out.

Her eyes follow every movement.

She is unable to fully relax, like something in her won’t let go.

Once, when my mum took Amelie into the other room, Luna got up almost immediately to follow, moving faster than I’ve seen her move since the surgery, wincing but not stopping.

“I’ll just—check,” she says as if to explain.

My wife doesn’t look at me.

***

Mum senses the distance, and I can see she is unhappy. Luna doesn’t want her here. I ask her what has changed, and finally, Luna mumbles something about her bringing Chloe to the hospital.

I tell her that Mum meant well. But that only makes Luna quieter.

“Let me help,” I say every chance I get.

“I’ve got it,” she always replies.

Always the same.

I stay close anyway—bringing her water, reminding her to drink, making sure she eats.

“You need fluids,” I say, placing the glass in her hand.

“I know,” she answers, taking it without really looking at me.