Page 96 of Cashmere Ruin

“Thought so. How about we just have a chat then?”

I smile. It feels like the first genuine one in a long time. “I’ll make tea.”

Then, with a warm cup between my hands, I take a deep breath and do what I promised to do.

I tell her everything.

By the time I’m done, Dr. Knox has filled five pages of her notebook. “So?” I press. “Am I going crazy?”

She shrugs. “No more than the average person, believe me. That said, I do think I have an inkling of what’s going on.”

“As in, a diagnosis?”

“It’s a bit early for that.”

I slump. “Oh.”

“Now, don’t go getting all disappointed on me. These things take time.”

“I just…” I force my frustration back down. “I don’t want to be a burden. Or worse, a danger.”

“A danger to whom?”

“Myself. My…” I breathe in sharply. “My b-baby.”

Dr. Knox pushes her notebook aside. “Do you know what postpartum depression is, April?”

I blink. “I thought it was too early for a diagnosis.”

“It is. But I did say I had an inkling.” She crosses her legs and takes a sip of her now-cold tea. “So? Ever heard of it?”

“I… Yeah. My mom, she—she went through that. Not with Charlie, but…”

“With you,” she fills in.

“Yeah. With me.”

Another rapid scribble. “Tell me what you’re thinking right now.”

“What?”

“Just now, what were you thinking?”

“I guess…” I twist my hands in my lap. “‘Figures.’”

“‘Figures’?”

“Yeah. Like, sounds about right. That she’d get sick with me and not with him.”

“So we’re blaming ourselves then?”

I frown. “Kind of? Does it count as blaming yourself if it’s the truth?”

“Do you blame your baby?”

“What?”

“For your postpartum. Do you blame your baby?”

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