I Almost Hurt Arthur—Until That Afternoon's Security Footage Told Me Otherwise.-11
Roots of Fear
Marianne looked up. Held my gaze. Then looked towards the cradle. "Toby was born in winter." Her voice was low, rough. "Bitter cold. Barely over four pounds." She rubbed her knuckles. "So fragile. His cry was weak. A kitten’s mewl." A pause. "Home three days. Fever spiked." Her brow furrowed deeply. "Doctors shrugged. Just said 'wait and see.' I held him all night. Didn't dare sleep." Her words slowed. "So tiny.
Cold hands and feet. I kept checking... terrified his temperature would drop." She swallowed hard. "Mark’s father worked away. He couldn’t help." Her eyes found mine again. "So when I see you... holding Arthur, sitting frozen, or crying..." A sharp inhale. "I think: No. She can't endure that too." Silence reclaimed her.
The Unseen Battle
"So you were taking him from me?" The words shot out, sharper than intended. Marianne stiffened. "I wasn’t... 'taking' him," her voice scraped. "I just... Toby said you weren’t sleeping. Struggling. When I saw you holding him... vacant stare... sitting frozen..." She struggled. "I thought... he needed immediate care.
Needed... consistency." Her voice wavered on "consistency." "When you took him so quickly," I stared at my ragged nail beds, "I felt worthless. Like... a defective caregiver." The therapist’s term felt bitter. "You’re *not*!" Her denial was swift, emphatic. She leaned forward slightly. "I never thought you—" She stopped, reading my face, comprehension dawning. "I just... panicked. Terrified he might suffer one second of neglect. Afraid he’d be cold, hungry..." Her voice dropped to a whisper, "...afraid *you* would break."
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Marianne looked up. Held my gaze. Then looked towards the cradle. "Toby was born in winter." Her voice was low, rough. "Bitter cold. Barely over four pounds." She rubbed her knuckles. "So fragile. His cry was weak. A kitten’s mewl." A pause. "Home three days. Fever spiked." Her brow furrowed deeply. "Doctors shrugged. Just said 'wait and see.' I held him all night. Didn't dare sleep." Her words slowed. "So tiny.
Cold hands and feet. I kept checking... terrified his temperature would drop." She swallowed hard. "Mark’s father worked away. He couldn’t help." Her eyes found mine again. "So when I see you... holding Arthur, sitting frozen, or crying..." A sharp inhale. "I think: No. She can't endure that too." Silence reclaimed her.
The Unseen Battle
"So you were taking him from me?" The words shot out, sharper than intended. Marianne stiffened. "I wasn’t... 'taking' him," her voice scraped. "I just... Toby said you weren’t sleeping. Struggling. When I saw you holding him... vacant stare... sitting frozen..." She struggled. "I thought... he needed immediate care.
Needed... consistency." Her voice wavered on "consistency." "When you took him so quickly," I stared at my ragged nail beds, "I felt worthless. Like... a defective caregiver." The therapist’s term felt bitter. "You’re *not*!" Her denial was swift, emphatic. She leaned forward slightly. "I never thought you—" She stopped, reading my face, comprehension dawning. "I just... panicked. Terrified he might suffer one second of neglect. Afraid he’d be cold, hungry..." Her voice dropped to a whisper, "...afraid *you* would break."
NEXT >>