Chapter 2 - The Help Emily Never Refused
Noah spent the night with Sarah.
Emily spent it at Northwestern Memorial Hospital.
Owen finally appeared shortly before midnight.
He entered the waiting area wearing a navy suit with his tie loosened, looking like a man who had left an expensive dinner early.
“Where’s Noah?”
Not Where’s Emily?
Sarah noticed.
“With me.”
“I’m his father.”
“And Emily is your wife.”
Owen pressed both hands against his hips.
“What happened?”
“You tell me.”
His eyes narrowed.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Sarah kept her voice low.
“Why was I removed from the visitor list?”
Owen exhaled.
“Emily asked for space.”
“She texted me today begging me to come.”
“She’s not herself right now.”
The answer came too smoothly.
Sarah stared at him.
“How long have you known that?”
Owen looked toward the treatment doors.
“She’s been overwhelmed.”
“Overwhelmed doesn’t get someone onto a rooftop with a newborn.”
His face tightened.
“Keep your voice down.”
Sarah nearly laughed.
There it was.
Image first.
Even here.
A psychiatric clinician came out to speak with them separately.
Emily was medically stable.
Noah had been examined and was safe.
Emily would remain for further psychiatric evaluation because her confusion, severe sleep deprivation, emotional volatility, and statements suggested something more serious than ordinary postpartum exhaustion.
Owen nodded as though receiving quarterly numbers.
Sarah watched him.
“You don’t look surprised.”
He turned.
“What reaction would satisfy you?”
“The truth.”
“I’ve been dealing with this for weeks.”
Sarah felt something cold settle in her chest.
“Weeks?”
“She cries. She barely sleeps. Sometimes she gets convinced Noah’s breathing wrong when he isn’t. Sometimes she thinks she hears him crying when he’s asleep.”
“And you told me she wanted privacy.”
“She did.”
“Did she?”
Owen looked away.
That was answer enough.
The next morning Sarah went to Emily’s penthouse to collect clothes.
The apartment was immaculate in the way expensive homes became immaculate when somebody else cleaned them.
Champagne-colored stone.
Ivory furniture.
Dark walnut cabinetry.
Fresh flowers.
Nothing looked like a house in crisis.
Then Sarah opened the refrigerator.
Almost no prepared food.
On the kitchen counter sat three unopened meal-delivery containers from the previous week.
In the nursery, she found a printed schedule taped inside a cabinet.
FEED.
PUMP.
WAKE.
MEDS.
SLEEP.
Several boxes were unchecked.
Beside it was a business card from a postpartum doula.
Sarah recognized the name.
Emily had told her before Noah was born that they had hired nighttime help for the first month.
Sarah called.
The doula hesitated before answering questions.
Then she said, “Mrs. Hart didn’t cancel me.”
Sarah’s grip tightened around the phone.
“Who did?”
“Her husband.”
“When?”
“After my second night.”
“Why?”
“He said Emily found having another person in the apartment intrusive.”
Sarah looked around the silent nursery.
Emily had never told anyone she fired the doula.
Because Emily hadn’t.
In the bedroom, Sarah found her sister’s phone charger plugged into an empty nightstand.
Emily’s phone itself was missing.
She called Owen.
“Where’s Emily’s phone?”
A pause.
“I have it.”
“Why?”
“She kept spiraling online. I was trying to help.”
Sarah looked at the untouched food.
The canceled overnight help.
The visitor restriction.
The missing phone.
May you like
For six weeks, everyone had been told Emily wanted to be left alone.
Sarah was beginning to understand that someone else had been answering for her.
