Page 112 of Tangled Desires

She goes quiet and before I can stop it, the waterworks start. Tears I’ve been holding back all day,all week, finally spill over, blurring the screen.

“Wait, what? Don’t do this to me, please, especially when I’m not there to hug you. Talk to me,” Claire says hurriedly.

“I don’t know, Claire. I’m just…” My voice cracks, the words sticking in my throat. “I miss my life. I miss me.” It comes out before I can bite it back. “And I don’t know how to say that without sounding like a selfish, terrible person.”

She’s silent for a moment, then the sound of her tapping away at her keyboard. “Kellie, clear my eleven and twelve o’clock appointments, please. I’m busy.”

“No, you don’t—” Claire cuts me off with a firm tone.

“Yes, I do. I need to talk to my best friend, okay?”

The words spill out faster than I can stop them. “Am I… a shit mother?” My voice cracks, and I almost choke on it. “Because I feel like one. I look at him, and I love him more than anything, but… God, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I feel lost. And I hate it. I should be enjoying this, shouldn’t I? But all I can think about is when this—this drowning—is going to end. And it’s like no one sees it. No one knows.”

Claire’s eyes stay soft as she watches me. “Have you talked to Harrison? He’s your partner in all this. He’ll understand.”

I shake my head. “No… how could I? He wouldn’t get it. He’s out there every day—living, talking to people, doing real things. And I’m just… here. Stuck. I don’t want to make him feel bad, or like he has to carry more than he already is. He works hard every day. God, it’s just… this is weird. It’s weird, and I hate even saying it out loud.”

“Imogen, listen to me. You are not failing. You’re allowed to feel all of this. Every. Single. Bit.” Her voice drops, softer, but there’s still fire in it. “You’re not supposed to have it all together straight away; it takes time. And for what it’s worth, I know Harrison would be there for you if you let him in. Don’t think he’s not in this with you.”

“I know. And Isla… she checks in every day. She knows what it’s like better than anyone, and I know I should probably talk to her more about it.”

Claire smiles. “Good. Let her help you, Imogen. You don’t have to carry all this alone. She’s been in your shoes, and I guarantee she’d understand. And so would Harrison. You don’t have to be perfect for him or anyone else—you just have to be you. That’s enough.”

“I love you. I just don’t want to sound ungrateful. I love Joseph—I do. But this… It’s hard.”

The kitchen smells like roasted chicken and vegetables—a simple dinner I managed to throw together with the leftover pumpkin I’d pureed for Joseph’s lunch. It’s nothing fancy, but it’ll do; he loves food. Ever since we started him on solids around six months to help him gain weight, he’s been all in, grabbing at everything and taking to it like he was born to eat. I can barely lift my arms to clean up, so the plates and cups will just stay where they are.

My hair’s in a bun that’s more a disaster zone than anything else, and I couldn’t care less. I haven’t showered all day, and the idea of standing under hot water feels like a joke at this point.

Joseph’s fed and content, and that’s what matters.

After getting off the phone with Claire, I laid on the carpet next to Joseph, watching him play. His tiny hands had reached for his toys, little fingers clutching at anything within reach. I’d hoped that lying there, soaking in his little giggles and focus, would make me feel better. But it didn’t change much. That heavy, sinking feeling still clings to me.

“Where are my babies?” Harrison’s voice rumbles from the hallway.

The door creaks open, boots thud against the floorboards, and the sound is… relief. Just hearing him, his scent, his rumbling voice—it’s enough to make me smile before I even see him. God, I’ve missed him.

When Harrison’s eyes find mine, he crosses the room in seconds, cupping my face as he pulls me into a kiss, and I melt, that flutter rising deep down, a reminder of how long it’s been.

“You’re finally home,” I breathe him in.

“I wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else.” He drops another kiss on my forehead before walking to Joseph, scooping him off the floor with a smooth, effortless motion. Joseph squeals as Harrison blows raspberries into his tummy.

“Thanks for cooking, Mama. I’m starving,” he teases.

“Good. It’s ready. Go sit down.” Instead of heading for the table, though, he tugs me in for another kiss, this one slow, lingering, lips brushing softly but not easing the heaviness sitting just beneath my ribs. When he pulls back, his eyes linger on my face, the faint crease in his brow telling me he’s noticed.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing.” I force a small smile, shrugging it off. I can’t tell him. Not tonight. Not when he looks this happy.

I’ve just put Joseph down in his bassinet after breastfeeding, burping, and swaddling him—our nightly routine. The room’s quiet except for the hum of his noise machine, a gift from Isla. He seems to love the white noise, and honestly? So do I.

It’s soothing, like a little buffer between me and the weight of everything else. Sliding under the covers, I barely have the energy to adjust the pillow. Harrison follows, his weight dipping the mattress beside me, his freshly showered scent wrapping around me like a hug I didn’t ask for but desperately need.

“Okay, talk. What’s really wrong?” His voice is gentle, but there’s no missing the edge of concern.

“I just need to rest.”

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