Knitted Baby Blankets
You see, Eleanor was broken. No one could fix her.
She never moved from the chair furthest from the window- the darkest corner of the room was where it sat.
She used to sit and knit. She knitted baby blankets for the child she was expecting, the biggest and softest smile he had ever seen grace her lips. Her eyes were lighted with happiness.
Now they were dark. She didn't smile. He wanted to see her happy, to hear her laugh- but now he only heard her cries of mourning throughout the day. Or the night. Because she never slept now.
She was turning into him. She didn't pace, she rocked in the chair they had bought months ago. By now, her baby would have been two weeks old. So she rocked it.
But it wasn't there. It was just a bundle of blankets. Very rarely, in the dark of night, when she thought everyone was sleeping, she would sing to it. And talk to it. Like it was alive, and in fact, a living human.
It was just material.
He, for once, wanted her to talk to him. Because now he would listen. She didn't. He would talk to her now, but the words fell on deaf ears.
He missed her chatter, the way she spoke to him as if he was a god, how she loved him in every way, took care of him. He'd try to take care of her, but she'd ignore him and look down at the fabric, then tilt her head like it had just done something amazing.
She was skin and bones, so light when he would pick her up, if she'd ever let him. She didn't.
Her body moved the chair, and even under her meager weight, it creaked eerily. He heard her talking, so he rushed to the room.
"Daddy wants me to stop holding you. But he doesn't understand, does he, baby? He doesn't love you like I do." She whispered.
He couldn't take it anymore. Tears leaked from his eyes, because seeing her like this killed him. She was talking to the blanket as if she was talking to their dead baby. He had loved the baby, when he thought he couldn't love any longer, when it lived inside her.
"Daddy doesn't want me to love you."
He felt a lump in his throat. Yes, she shouldn't love the damn fabric, when she could thrive on the fact that he finally listened to her, even loved her, in his own way. He wanted her to love him, not the memory of the deceased child who had never even lived out of the womb.
Not ever had he imagined she would carry his child at all- he never thought he could even do the act with her- ever. But he had, and he regretted that he had done so, because in the long run, it had only caused her pain.
"Daddy thinks I'm irresponsible."
He did sometimes, because she abandoned her life. The shop, Toby, him. Everything. She left him, too. Did he not need her? He did. He didn't need her dead inside and lost in her own world, he wanted her to touch him on his face with her fingertips, to dare to hug him, to talk when she knew he wasn't listening. He wanted her to be… Her again.
He wanted her to risk kissing him on the cheek before bedtime. He wanted her real, clean cooking, the way it smelled when she made it, and how it was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted- though he would never admit it.
"Daddy once said that you meant something once. But not now. You matter to me, little one." She cradled it.
He didn't want her to call him that any more. He couldn't be a father to what she was holding. It wasn't real. It wasn't a person. It wasn't even living.
"Hush, little baby, don't say a word
Mama's gonna-"
"Nellie, it's over. Please."
"Shh, it's sleeping."
"It's time to stop pretending. I've already lost my wife and child once. I don't want it to happen again." He choked out through his overpowering emotions.
She just rocked in the chair, holding the 'baby' and cooing at it affectionately.
"I love our baby. I wish you did too. We could be a great family, you know." She said softly.
He stared at her from the doorway, shaking his head.
"I-I need you to come back. Please. For me."
She shook her head, and the moment she did so, he pulled back the drapes, letting the bright light filter in. It hit her, illuminated what she was holding. When she looked down, she felt her imaginary world crumble.
"My baby, my baby…" She repeated over and over, covering her eyes as the roll of pale yellow sat on her lap.
He swallowed stiffly at the sight. Seeing her like this… It was painful.
"You're fine. It's okay, Nell. I promise… I'm… Sorry…"
"It's gone, it's gone, it's gone…" She whispered to herself, curling up in the chair and pulling her knees to her chest.
He came over and attempted to rub her back, but she shielded away, flinching, like he burned her. Her brown eyes looked up at him innocently, he wanted to see love in them, but he saw pure fear. She was scared of him?
"Nell…"
She whimpered, tightening herself even more into a ball. He picked her up carefully, feeling how much she could possibly weigh to affect how weak she was.
It was like… Lifting nothing. She cried, burying her face in his vest, her emotions finally getting the better of her. Never did he think he'd be holding her like this, and much less after the situation at hand.
He sat down on their bed- not that he'd been sleeping in it lately. He held her like she wanted to hold their child. She moved so she was sitting sideways on his lap and put her head on his shoulder, clinging to his shirt with her weak and bony fists.
He could hear her sniffling in his right ear, but he made no move to stop it. He just wrapped his arms around her, letting her sob and let it all out. She let her head lean against his and rested her body so he was holding her up.
He sighed and put his head atop hers.
"Sweeney?" She whimpered quietly.
"Hmm?" He replied gently.
"I'm sorry… I…"
"Don't apologize. You don't need to. I'll be here."
He laid back and took her with him, so she now rested on him. She cried more. He held back his own tears as she talked to herself. Eventually, she fell asleep atop him, and he held her until he too had drifted off.
She was never the same after that, but she lived. Every night she came to bed and he would be there to hold her.
You see, Eleanor was broken. But in a way, he did fix her.
The End.