by A.J. Tierney

            The stillness of the river calmed my nerves. Every night, since Annabelle was just over a week old, I had walked a two-mile stretch that wound expertly around planted landscaping; little was left that was natural except the river. I made my way down to the river on a trail behind our house every night. The water appeared black and reflected trees, park benches, and lampposts. My soul felt anguish and torture every day, and the only thing that kept me going was the hope there was a place void of my nightmares.

            Annabelle was eight days old the first time I envisioned snapping her tiny forearm in two. I was folding laundry on the floor in the living room, and she was lying on her back on the overstuffed plaid couch. Her little legs kicked spastically while she whimpered. Her arms flailed around, and I was seized with the desire to wrap my hands around her wrist and elbow and snap her arm. I was so horrified by the thought, I shook my head violently as if the action would sling the thought from my mind. I wanted to comfort her, but she had not been hurt. My chest tightened and I slid down near the couch. I blinked and felt the tears drop from my eyes. I was tired of crying. I lay down on the floor next to the couch to make sure I could hear Annabelle if she needed me. I just needed a small nap. The doorbell woke me up, and I staggered to the front door.

            “Mom?”

            She opened the glass door and pushed past me.  “Where’s that baby?” She continued down the hall and into the living room.   “There she is. Oh, Beth, you are such a good mother. ‘Put a baby on their back’ is what they say now. Of course, when you were a baby it was on the tummy. It’s a wonder you survived.” She picked Annabelle up and cradled her.

            “Were you in the neighborhood?”

            “No, but that’s all right. You sounded so frantic on the phone. I thought something was wrong with the baby.” She gazed down at the wiggling mass.

            “I called you?” I rubbed my temples trying to remember making the call.

            “You need to get some sleep.”

            “Mom, I need to talk to you.”

            “Is it serious?”

            “Yes, Mom. I’m having thoughts I don’t think a mother should have. The thoughts I’m having scare me. I’m happy most of the time, but then there are times I’m really sad.”

            “Oh, honey. You just have the baby blues. Every new mother goes through this.”

            “Did you have baby blues after I was born?”

            She continued bouncing Annabelle. “I can’t remember. I’m sure I had days I was a little blue, but you were a good baby, how could I be sad?”

            “Annabelle is good, Mom. It’s not that. That’s why I think it might be something else.  Today I thought about---”

            “Did you see that, Beth? I think she’s trying to smile, only eight days old. She’s so precious. I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to interrupt you, go on.” She leaned over Annabelle to inspect her face.

            “Oh, nothing. You’re probably right about the baby blues.”

            “You haven’t said anything to Nathan have you?”

            “I tried, but I just can’t seem to bring myself to tell him.”

            “Beth, take my advice. Wait this one out. Nathan will not understand.”

            “But he’s my husband. We can usually talk about anything.”

            “Trust me. Give it some time, and all these feelings will work themselves out.” She started making silly faces and stroking Annabelle’s cheek.

            We said our goodbyes. I stood at the front door and watched my mother pull

away from the house. After my mom was gone, I had this sinking feeling that I would be alone with Annabelle again.

            My life had once been quite normal. My husband Nathan and I met while working at an advertising agency together. What started out as friendly lunches turned into even friendlier dinners, and within a year, we were married. We both wanted children and felt strongly about waiting to start a family until we were financially ready. Nathan and I both came from families where our mothers stayed at home, and we decided when we had children, I would do the same.

            I always enjoyed my mother’s visits, but her visit earlier in the day had me unsettled. As I sat at the table with Nathan eating dinner, I kept hearing my mother’s advice in my head, ‘Nathan won’t understand.’ I pushed my food around my plate.            “You’re quiet tonight. Is everything ok?”

            “Fine, just a little blue, that’s all.”

            “Tough day?”

            “Something like that.” I traced the edge of the placemat, noticing the chipped red nail polish on my index finger.

            Annabelle started to cry, interrupting our dinner.

            “She must be hungry,” Nathan said, as he started to push away from the table.

            “She can wait.” I slammed my fork down.

            “Beth, she needs to be fed.”

            “I said in a minute, Nathan.”

            I threw my napkin on the table and walked to the bedroom. I sat on the end of the bed and ran my fingers through my oily hair. I couldn’t remember the last time I had washed it. I felt my milk let down as Annabelle’s squalling escalated. I felt the razors slash through the inside of my breast. I looked down to make sure I wasn’t bleeding. No blood, but two defined wet spots emerged on my t-shirt. Nathan tapped on the door.

            “Beth? Annabelle is really going at it. Can I bring her to you?”

            I hung my head, “Whatever.”

            He came through the door with our tiny daughter nestled in his arms, her mouth fiercely sucking on the pacifier. Nathan glanced at my shirt.

            “You’ve soaked all the way through.”

            “Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

            “What’s with you?”

            “You mean other than being stuck in a house all day as a human milking machine?”

            “I understand it’s hard for you, but this is hard for everyone, Beth. We agreed you would stay home. We just have to work through this.”

            I stripped my shirt off, flung it to the floor, unhooked my bra and peeled away the soaked nursing pads from my engorged breasts.  “Give me the fucking baby!”

            “I think you need to get control of yourself first.”

            Drops of milk dripped down the front of my breast, and I felt a curious relief. Nathan bounced Annabelle gently as she continued to cry. I tried to compose myself. I took a deep breath.

            “Give her to me,” I said. “I’m fine.”

            I sat at the head of the bed and leaned up against the headboard. He laid Annabelle next to me as he positioned the pillow around my sagging belly. He lifted Annabelle onto the pillow. I pulled her to my left breast; she latched on and started sucking ferociously. I felt the razors bear down on my breast with every suckle. I winced. Nathan climbed onto the bed next to me. There was silence except for the slurping and snorting sounds coming from my breast.

            “It’s really amazing, isn’t it?” Nathan said.

            I couldn’t respond. She emptied my left breast, and I handed her to Nathan to be burped, like a half-time show before she started on the right. She suckled nearly forty-five minutes before the torture ended. I was exhausted and told Nathan I needed to rest. He obliged me. Two hours later I felt a dampness on my right arm, time for another feeding. This time I didn’t bother sitting up. Annabelle laid next to me feasting once again. Her breathing settled into a nice rhythm. I wrapped my arm around her back and pressed her into my breast until I felt her stop moving. My mind wandered to the river, flowing smoothly. I waded in up to my knees and slipped into the water on my belly. Water sloshed into my mouth, and I woke choking.  Annabelle kicked her legs frantically struggling to break free from my grasp. She began to gasp and cry. I jumped up from the bed and ran to the bathroom. I heard Nathan comforting Annabelle. I looked into the mirror and didn’t recognize the woman looking back at me.

            The next morning, after Nathan left for work, I crept into Annabelle’s nursery and watched her sleep peacefully in her crib. My chest tightened, and I felt a lump in my throat. I walked into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of milk. I watched the thick white liquid flow into my glass. The milk coated my tongue, and I spit out what was left into the sink, nauseated by the taste. I tried to wash the residue from my mouth and find something to distract myself.

            The pile of mail on the dining room table beckoned to me. My routine had been disrupted since Annabelle’s arrival. There were days I didn’t even make it to the mailbox. I grabbed my letter opener and dove in without looking back: bill, junk, congrats, another bill, more junk. I heard Annabelle stir in her crib, and I stopped opening envelopes. A glint caught my eye. I looked down at the letter opener and stared at it, its beautiful red and brown beads dangling from one end and a perfect silver point at the other. I heard Annabelle again. Then, I saw myself in her nursery, hovering over her crib. She was face down struggling to flip herself over. I raised the letter opener above my head and with all my force, plunged the pointed silver tip into the base of her skull. I dropped the letter opener on the table and ran to Annabelle’s nursery. There she lay as I left her, sleeping peacefully, unharmed. I wanted to grab her and wrap myself around her, but I couldn’t. I backed out of the room slowly, and once out of her room, I slumped to the floor and sobbed. Baby blues? Certainly my mother never thought of stabbing me. I couldn’t call her in a panic two days in a row. I needed someone to sit with me to make sure I didn’t harm Annabelle. My sister Nicole was the only one I felt I could trust with a secret this big.

            Once my sister arrived and we worked through the pleasantries, I was ready to tell her what was going on and beg her to help me.

            “Beth, you’re so lucky.” She gently rocked Annabelle in her arms.

            “Lucky?”

            “You’ve got a brand new baby, a great house, a fantastic husband, not to mention a beautiful sister.” She winked at me.

            “You’re right. It’s just sometimes I’m not happy, you know?”

            “Well, I guess I could imagine. I’ve never been married or had kids. I can barely show up to work on time. You’re the stable one, not me. Remember?”

            “Right, but I mean there are days that I just can’t seem to get these thoughts out of my head.” I poured myself a cup of coffee and took a seat at the end of the breakfast table.

            “What kind of thoughts?” Nicole sat across the table rocking Annabelle.

            I took a deep breath, “Yesterday, I thought about breaking her arm.”

            “That’s not funny, Beth.”

            “Does it look like I’m joking? I’m scared as hell because there have been other thoughts.”

            “What? You want to kill your own baby?” Nicole stood up and started pacing around the table.

            I couldn’t control my sobbing. “It’s not like that. I don’t really want to hurt her, but these thoughts won’t stop.”

            “You’ve got to tell Nathan.”

            “Mom said don’t tell him. He wouldn’t understand.”

            “You have to tell someone, and I think it should be your husband. Mom isn’t the expert about everything.” Nicole continued to bounce Annabelle.

            “What am I supposed to tell him? I want to hurt our daughter.”

            “This is so messed up. Maybe you could tell someone else and get some help.”

            “No one can know. Mom says it’s a phase and things will get better.”

            “What if it is not a phase?”

            I saw my opening quickly close. Nicole was not going to be the person who

would understand what was happening with me. My mother didn’t want to understand me, and my sister thought I was crazy. My husband just wanted to make sure we did everything right for our daughter. The day the nurses handed my daughter to me, they never mentioned that I might want to snap her arm in two or stab her with a letter opener. Of course, they didn’t tell me those things because normal mothers don’t have those feelings.

            I tried to convince myself these feelings would pass with time. Until I could get through this phase, I decided to limit my exposure to Annabelle. I had to; there was no other choice. I had to protect my daughter. I stopped breastfeeding and only bottle fed if there was absolutely no one around to feed her. To soothe her cryings, I put her in the swing and took her out only when she needed changing. The thoughts of bodily harm to Annabelle persisted, and I could only find excuses to stay away for so long. That’s when I started my nightly walks on the river. First, I walked thirty minutes each night and then as much as two hours by the time I found myself contemplating the hardest decision of my life.

            I had few options; I could stay and go back to work, forcing Annabelle into daycare. This was not an option really, as Nathan was adamantly opposed to me working, and we had made a decision together that I would not work. I could ask for a divorce, but I didn’t want a divorce. I loved my husband, and I loved my daughter. I could just leave, abandon my family, leaving them to always wonder why I had left.

            Annabelle was almost three weeks old, and the thoughts continued daily and overwhelmed me. I looked down upon her while changing her diaper and analyzed every inch of her little body. My eyes finally rested on what was left of her umbilical cord. The cord, which had been connected to me less than three weeks before, was black and decaying. She was disconnected, expelled from my womb and forever severed from me. I realized the bond could not be restored. I could not spend one more moment with this little creature. I needed to get out.

            I spent all day cleaning the house and making sure all the laundry was done. Annabelle and I made a trip to the grocery store to make sure the pantry and refrigerator were stocked. I put Annabelle down for her evening nap and waited in the living room for Nathan to return from work. I heard his key in the front door, the familiar sound of his shoes on the hardwood floor in the entry, and then came the moment I relished every day, his face emerging from around the corner.

            “Wow! You’ve been busy today.” He surveyed the house. “The house looks great.”

            My heart fluttered. “Got in one of my cleaning frenzies, I guess.” I started to wring my hands in my lap.

            He loosened his tie and flopped down on the couch. “You know, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”

            I looked up at him. “About what?”

            “Well, your moods have been pretty unpredictable, and you don’t seem happy.”

            I felt a tear fall on my hands, and I quickly wiped it away.

            “Nathan, you know I love you, and I love Annabelle; it’s just that I can’t work some things out.”

            “You don’t have to work it out alone.” Nathan came over and sat at my feet and held my hands.

            I pulled my hands away from him. “You won’t understand this.” I stood up and walked toward the front door.

            “Where are you going?”

            “For a walk.” I turned and continued my walk to the front door.

            In my darkest times, I found myself at the river. This body of water was a strange being, calm, smooth, and still like glass; but as it approached the dam, it was unaware of the tumult it was about to engage in. It fell over the edge in a graceful descent into an angry vortex of never ending confusion, swirling, oppressed, never to resurface. I wondered if you took your life to spare another if it would still be suicide. Was it still an unforgivable sin?

            I wanted to be consumed by something to stop the agony I felt in my soul. I took my shoes and socks off and walked down near the edge of the river. The cold water numbed my toes and feet. I rolled my jeans up to my knees. I waded out to feel the icy splendor on my ankles, then on my knees. My thighs ached, my stomach shuddered and my nipples hardened. The mud squeezed up through my toes, and my feet continued to sink further and further. The water, which seemed so still from the shore, now bobbed against my chin and splashed inside my nostrils. I gulped down a mouthful of gritty water and began to choke. My feet lifted from their muddy shoes and broke through the surface. I relaxed and gave in. I gazed upward. Wispy, white clouds encircled the moon and wrapped her children, the stars, close to her. Before I closed my eyes, I felt Nathan’s sweet embrace.

            The sun peeked over the horizon. I had never seen the river so clearly. The trees looked different lining the river’s edge when illuminated by sunlight. The lampposts that were always so prominent before, guiding my every step along the river, faded into the background. Nathan had curled up next to me during the night. I rolled over to face him.

            “Nathan?” I whispered.

            His eyes opened. “I’m not leaving without you.”

            “Nicole told you, didn’t she?” His silence answered for him.

            “Let’s go home.” He wrapped the blanket around me and we started our walk home.

            “I would never---.” I started.

            “I know.” He softly stroked my cheek.

            The porch light was still on when we reached the house. Nathan unlocked the door; I took a deep breath and stepped back into my life.