I Almost Hurt Arthur—Until That Afternoon's Security Footage Told Me Otherwise.-15
Night’s Ambush
Deep night. Silence. Arthur lay heavy and warm against me, drowsy after feeding. Then it struck: Throw him down. My arms locked rigid. Arthur felt scalding. Swiftly, I placed him back in his crib. He murmured. Without pause, I fled the nursery, into the hall. Snatching the wall phone, I pressed it to my ear. Dial tone droned. Breath came in sharp gasps. Chest heaved. Leaning against the cold wall, I gulped air. Only the phone screen's faint blue glow pierced the darkness.
Three AM Reassurance
The line connected instantly. "Hello?" The therapist's voice, sleep-roughened but calm. "Me," I rasped, voice cracking. "The thought... came back. Just now... holding him..." Words tumbled chaotically. "Are you safe?" Immediate clarity. "Safe... he's in his crib." I slid down the icy wall, knees drawn up. "Good. Listen: Relapse is normal. Like a cough lingering after a cold. It arrived. You acknowledged it. You handled it safely. That *proves* you've gained control." Faint paper rustling came down the line.
"Now, describe things you can touch. Anything." I exhaled shakily, fingers tracing textures: "Wallpaper... grainy. Floor... icy. And... the phone cord, coiled around my fingers." "Good. Deep breaths. In... four seconds. Hold... seven. Out slowly... eight. Follow me." Her measured inhale guided me. Eyes closed, I matched her rhythm. Once. Twice... By the tenth exhale, the thought receded to background noise. Like a distant, muted television. "Still there?" Gentle. "Yes," I whispered. "But distant. I can breathe." "Excellent," she affirmed. "Rest here. Call anytime tonight if needed." "Thank you." "No need. You did perfectly. Goodnight, Sarah."
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Deep night. Silence. Arthur lay heavy and warm against me, drowsy after feeding. Then it struck: Throw him down. My arms locked rigid. Arthur felt scalding. Swiftly, I placed him back in his crib. He murmured. Without pause, I fled the nursery, into the hall. Snatching the wall phone, I pressed it to my ear. Dial tone droned. Breath came in sharp gasps. Chest heaved. Leaning against the cold wall, I gulped air. Only the phone screen's faint blue glow pierced the darkness.
Three AM Reassurance
The line connected instantly. "Hello?" The therapist's voice, sleep-roughened but calm. "Me," I rasped, voice cracking. "The thought... came back. Just now... holding him..." Words tumbled chaotically. "Are you safe?" Immediate clarity. "Safe... he's in his crib." I slid down the icy wall, knees drawn up. "Good. Listen: Relapse is normal. Like a cough lingering after a cold. It arrived. You acknowledged it. You handled it safely. That *proves* you've gained control." Faint paper rustling came down the line.
"Now, describe things you can touch. Anything." I exhaled shakily, fingers tracing textures: "Wallpaper... grainy. Floor... icy. And... the phone cord, coiled around my fingers." "Good. Deep breaths. In... four seconds. Hold... seven. Out slowly... eight. Follow me." Her measured inhale guided me. Eyes closed, I matched her rhythm. Once. Twice... By the tenth exhale, the thought receded to background noise. Like a distant, muted television. "Still there?" Gentle. "Yes," I whispered. "But distant. I can breathe." "Excellent," she affirmed. "Rest here. Call anytime tonight if needed." "Thank you." "No need. You did perfectly. Goodnight, Sarah."
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