Page 172 of Blackout-

“Please, make her stop…she won’t stop crying…” Lacey cries, lifting her hands to cover her ears. “Something is wrong with her.”

I stare at her furiously for a moment, not believing my eyes and ears.

“Nothing is wrong with her,” I snap. “For fuck’s sake, Lacey, she just wants to be held.”

“Then why is she still crying?” she wails. “You’re holding her!”

“Maybe she wants her mother, did you ever think of that?” I shout.

My daughter cries harder and I instantly regret raising my voice. I rock her gently, softly whispering in her ear, assuring her that she’s okay.

That she’s loved.

Soon, she calms down and I’m not sure if it’s because of anything I’ve done or if she’s exhausted herself. I change her diaper and fix her a bottle, but I don’t give it to her. Instead, I walk back into the living room and drop it on Lacey’s lap. She stares up at me with a tortured expression on her face and guilt swarms me. For so long it was just me and her, battling our demons. Now, my need to protect Jacqueline is overruling my ability to detect when my wife needs me to see her out of the darkness.

Taking a seat beside her, I adjust Jacqueline in my arms.

“I’m sorry,” I say huskily. “I shouldn’t have left you alone with her. But, baby, we can’t go on like this,” I add softly, draping my free arm around her shoulders. “You need to tell me what’s going on inside your head. Tell me what you’re feeling. No masks.”

She remains silent as she diverts her eyes away from me.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she whispers finally. “I love her, but I can’t hold her. I can’t even look at her because my heart breaks at the sight of her. I’m a horrible mother.”

I swallow, shaking my head.

“No, you’re not.”

“No masks,” she repeats, flitting her gaze back to me. Something flashes in her dark eyes and for a second, I think she’s conflicted by looking at me and wanting to look at our daughter. “This isn’t how I pictured it…or maybe it is, I’m not even sure anymore. You’re so good with her.”

That breaks my heart.

Mainly because I wish she’d see how good she’s been to her.

“You can be too. You just need to allow yourself the chance,” I tell her. “Lace, think about everything you’ve done for her already. Everything you went through to make sure she was healthy. Everything I could never do for her, you did. Everything she needed from her mother, she got. I think she misses you.”

“I miss her too,” she sobs. “I miss feeling her inside of me. I miss talking to her.”

“She’s right here, baby. All you gotta do is reach for her.”

“I don’t want you to think I don’t love her.”

“I know you do.”

“I love her so much,” she cries. “I swear, I do.”

Pausing to wipe her tears, she lowers her hand so that it rests on my forearm.

So close and yet so far.

Her lashes lower as she takes in a breath. Opening her eyes, she glances down at our little girl, safe and content in my arms, staring up at her mommy.

“Oh, Jacqueline, mommy loves you,” she sobs, laying her head on my shoulder as she inches her hand away from my arm and closer to the baby’s hand. “Please, don’t think I don’t. I’m so sorry. So, so, sorry.”

“Ssh…” I murmur, kissing the top of her head. “You don’t have to be sorry. You just need to be well.” As the words leave my lips, I realize how many times they’ve been passed between us. “I’m going to call Dr. Spiegel and set up an appointment. Maybe your meds need to be adjusted.”

“No,” she shouts, lifting her head from my shoulder. Her eyes are wide with fear as she shakes her head. “I don’t want to go back there.”

“What?”

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