Page 66 of Insidious

“You always think food fixes everything,” I murmur.

“No,” she says, turning back to the stove. “I think things become clearer on a full stomach.”

I smile at that.

The sunlight pours through the windows. I settle on the sofa and pull my T-shirt up. Amelie immediately latches on as if the trials of the past never happened. I sink into the comfort of a morning on the sofa I chose for comfort.

The room is warm and painfully ordinary.

Just perfect.

Chapter 18

Luna

The front door opens again as I’m adjusting Amelie’s blanket. I listen as Isaac makes his way to the kitchen with the groceries. He looks handsome in a burgundy sweater that hugs the contours of his broad chest and worn jeans that cling faithfully to his muscular thighs. His hair is sprinkled with premature grey and a little longer than he likes to keep it. His blue eyes keep looking my way as he puts the groceries away.

The eggs are on the top, just like I have nagged him to do after a hundred times of them ending up crushed in the bottom. He takes something out of a brown paper bag and microwaves it. The smell of my favourite cinnamon roll drifts my way as he settles next to me with a fresh cup of tea. I watch the indecision in his eyes before he says, “May I hold her?”

“She is your daughter as well,” I say as I carefully hand her to him.

“Drink your tea,” he urges, but his attention is on our beautiful baby. The last few weeks of regularly handling Amelie has him expertly rocking her as he watches her sleep with a tender look in his eyes.

“I need to go out for a bit. Maybe a couple of hours.” He looks my way, as if asking for permission.

I return the look coolly.

Pre-Amelie, I would have asked something.

Where are you going?

When will you be back?

And then I would tip my face up for a kiss and probably ask him to drive safely.

Instead, I say, “Okay.”

I look back down at Amelie.

I can almost feel him hoping I will say something more. I don’t look up.

“Just … a few things to sort out,” he adds, like bait. I don’t bite.

Asking feels like opening a door I’ve only barely managed to close.

“I—” He stops and starts again. “I’ve been seeing someone.”

This man must have a death wish.

“Seeing someone?”

His eyes go wide as he realises what he just said. “Oh. No. Not like that. A therapist.”

Oh. I don’t know how to respond to that.

A therapist. I vaguely remember Lily mentioning something.

“I’ve only had two sessions,” he adds. “It’s just … early days, I guess. But I thought I should—no, I need to get myself sorted.”