Page 54 of Insidious

I smile.

“You should have seen her when she was born.”

He watches her for a moment, a wistful softness settling over his face.

Then he straightens and looks at me.

“Amelie and I are going to go for a walk,” says Isaac. “I will let you both talk.”

He carefully takes his daughter, his heart in his eyes. His gaze passes over me, as if to check that I am alright before he walks off with our girl. The door slides shut behind him.

My eyes slide back to catch Colin watching me with an expression like he’s putting pieces together, like he’s recognising something he’s seen before.

“Want to tell me what happened?” he asks quietly.

I shake my head immediately.

“Nothing.”

He doesn’t believe me. Of course he knows.

“Luna.”

That tone. The one that says don’t lie to me. I look away.

“I just … had a bad few days.”

“Yeah,” he says gently. “You look like you’ve had a bad few days.”

Something in me snaps.

“I could have killed her.”

The words I have never voiced come tumbling out before I can stop them.

They are ugly, and they are tearing into me. I feel his attention, but he doesn’t interrupt.

So, I keep going. Because once it starts, it doesn’t stop.

“I never thought—” My voice cracks, and I swallow hard. “I never thought I would be someone who did something like that, you know?”

My hands start to shake. I press them harder into my lap.

“I put her in danger,” I whisper. “My own child. I—” My breath stutters. “I don’t even remember it properly. I just—there was this … fog. And I thought—” I squeeze my eyes tight. “I remember wondering if she’d be better off without me.”

The words feel like poison, like rot that I’ve been carrying inside me.

“How am I supposed to trust myself with her now?” I ask, voice rising despite myself. “How am I supposed to look at her and not think that I could—” My voice breaks. “I failed her.”

Silence fills the room, as if to complement my exhaustion. I expect him to argue, to tell me I’m wrong, but he doesn’t.

He just … sits here and listens.

So, I keep going, because I can’t stop.

“I didn’t even feel like her mother half the time,” I say, the words tumbling over each other now. “I looked at her, and I knew I should feel something—love, instinct, something—but it was like there was this wall, and I couldn’t get through it, and—”

My chest tightens.