Page 142 of More Than Words

Now it was time for me to face my fears and tell him how I felt.

ADRIAN

Boston

“I think we need to talk,” I said to Isobel, looking back at where Hutch was holding Finley on my couch while Andrea hovered next to him.

“We got her. Go talk in her office,” my brother told us, nodding toward the door.

“Are you sure, I can—”

Andrea interrupted me. “I’ve been a nanny for years. I’ll make sure she’s safe.”

“I’m her uncle and I have a twelve-year-old. I think I can handle a four-month-old baby,” Hutch argued, staring down my intern.

“Can you?” Andrea asked, arching an eyebrow at Hutch.

“I was a field medic and am halfway through the testing to go for my EMT certification. I’m probably a little more qualified than you to deal with a sick baby.”

They continued to bicker, and I grasped Isobel’s elbow, nodding toward the door. “Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

She looked longingly at Finley, and I knew she was worried about her, but I could tell we needed to talk without an audience. “But…”

“She’s okay for a bit. They’ll call us if her fever gets worse. We don’t need to leave for the doctor for another twenty minutes.”

Nodding, her chin quivered, but she let me lead her out the door and into the hallway. We walked silently side-by-side. I was almost desperate to hold her hand, but I didn’t want to push things. She was clearly struggling right now.

By the time we reached her office, I could tell she was moments from breaking down again. I didn’t like that I could tell when she was about to burst into tears. After the door closed behind us, she let out a sob that had me pulling her into my arms.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered brokenly. “I should have stayed. But I thought if I went on that trip and got her to sign that it’d make me feel like there was something I finally wasn’t failing.”

“You weren’t failing, Is. Having a baby is hard.”

“Not for you.”

“Is that what you think? That it’s easy for me?” Every day that she drew further and further into herself, I wondered if I wasn’t being supportive enough. She refused to lean on me to take off the burden, and I often wondered if it was because she couldn’t trust me. Our history wasn’t the best, and while I know she saw who I was now, I’d been an asshole for years. You act like something long enough and people tend to believe it.

“You make everything look so easy. She doesn’t cry as much for you. You never seem tired. Work isn’t a struggle for you to balance,” she blurted, barely taking a breath with unshed tears in her eyes.

“Is,” I sighed, running my hand down her chaotic hair. “Every time I went back to the hotel while you were still admitted to the hospital, I cried in the shower. I cried in my car in the parking lot when I went to get dinner most nights. I didn’t want you to feel like I was one more person for you to shoulder the burden for. I hated seeing you both struggle. I just didn’t want you to see me upset. Being strong for you made it easier to focus on something I could control when nothing seemed to go right.”

She sniffled, burrowing into my chest. Her body was practically shaking in my arms, and I hated that she’d gotten to the point where she felt like she had to run away from me.

“Do you have any idea how many terrifying scenarios went through my head when you were in labor? How terrified I was that I was going to lose one or both of you?”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me this?”

“Because I didn’t want to scare you. I’ve felt like I was losing you for months and I didn’t want to make it worse.”

“I’m sorry.”

Leaning down to lay my cheek against her hair, I hugged her tighter to my chest. “You’ve been so withdrawn and upset lately. I think this is more than just adjusting to parenthood.”

“You’re right, it’s because I didn’t know how to talk to you about how I felt. I didn’t want to admit how unequipped I’ve been to handle any of this. How much of a failure I felt like.”

My heart cracked wide open at the despair in her voice. She had no idea how strong she was. How in awe of her I was most days.

“Asking for help doesn’t make you a failure. And admitting you may have postpartum depression doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human. The longer you let yourself suffer, the harder it will be. We’ve gotta break this cycle. We need to get you in to talk to someone.”

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