For three nights, Ive been unable to sleep, my mind gnawed by guilt like a starving animal. I stand at the edge of a chasm, torn between duty and fear, my life poised to change forever. Im eight months pregnant, and after my wedding, I moved to my husbands home in Manchester, leaving my parents behind in our quiet village near Norwich, where visits are rarecounted on one hand.
One evening, over tea in our tiny kitchen, Mum reminisced about her struggles when I was bornhow shed been alone, exhausted, saved only by Grans help. Her words struck deep, and before I knew it, I blurted, Mum, why not stay with us after the baby comes? Just for a bit, to help me. Her eyes lit up as if Id handed her a second chance. Then came the blow: Oh, your dad and I would love to stay a whole year! Well rent out our flat and give you some extra cash.
Ice flooded my veins. Id imagined her alone, for a month at mostnot Dad, too, not a year. I adore him, but the thought of his pipe smoke clinging to the curtains, the balcony door swinging open in winter, letting in drafts while the baby coughsit choked me. And Dad, restless, would either blare the telly or drag my husband to the pub till midnight. I pictured the chaosnoise, smoke, my husband absent when I needed himand my chest tightened.
I gathered my courage. Mum, I only meant you. A month, no more. Her face darkened. Without your dad, I wont come. Its both of us or nothing. She left me in heavy silence. Now, I lie awake, doubts swirling. Am I selfish? Mum wants to help, but my heart screams: *I cant bear it.* My babys health, my homewhat if I crumble under their well-meaning invasion? Yet guilt whispers: *Shes your mother. This moment wont come again.*
The darkness offers no answers. Only the weight of choice, and the fear that either way, Ill drown.
