Marina had never been so exhausted in her life. In those first few moments, when there had been silence, she was wound tight; pure nervous energy. But at the sound of her baby's cries all the energy flowed out of her and she fell back on the bed.
"Look at her, my beautiful granddaughter!" Mrs. Crane exclaimed from the foot of the bed. Marina pushed herself up on one elbow to try to get a look.
"Her?"
"Yes, a very healthy newborn. Most of my pre-mature deliveries are not so well formed," the doctor said drily. The baby cried loudly, as though resenting the implication in the doctor's words.
Mrs. Crane breezily ignored him, bringing the baby over to Marina. "Yes, isn't she just perfect?" she asked, handing the baby down to Marina.
Marina looked down at the screaming little face and felt utterly confused. She looked at the little body – indeed she was a girl. All this time she had been inside of Marina's body and she hadn't known… Marina frowned down at the girl and felt a dark twisting of betrayal in her gut.
The doctor was bowing to Mrs. Crane. "I will inform the father. If any issues arise with the child, you may call me back."
Marina looked up at him. She wanted to tell him there was a problem – this wasn't her son. She knew how wrong it sounded, how crazy, but she didn't recognize this baby in her arms; she didn't feel what she knew she ought to.
"What a set of lungs she has!" Mrs. Crane exclaimed, and Marina realized she was squeezing the baby's arm tightly. "Here, my dear, let her get a hold of you…"
Mrs. Crane showed Marina how to hold the baby, how to encourage her to suckle at her breast. Marina barely heard any of it – she was too tired, too numbed. Eventually Mrs. Crane seemed to realize this, and she took the baby in her arms. "I should let you rest. May I take her with me, to introduce to Philip, or do you want to keep holding her?"
"Take her," Marina murmured, already letting her body drop into sleep. She was vaguely aware of Mrs. Crane leaving, of hearing Philip's voice right outside her door, but she soon drifted away.
She dreamed of George.
She dreamed of a different labor, a different doctor. Her mother was there, and her sisters, holding her hands and bringing her through. She dreamed her son was there, and he was tiny and perfect and she loved him as she should.
"Do you see him? We made him together." Marina held up their son to George. He smiled and took her face in his big hands and kissed her. She closed her eyes and let the feeling of his fingers on her cheeks surround her, fill her up. She wanted nothing more than to stay like this forever.
Marina woke up to the sound of crying, and to a desperate feeling of exhaustion. She could barely open her eyelids, let alone lift her body out of bed. That miserable baby just kept crying, her cries piercing Marina's brain and keeping her from sleep.
Marina moaned and turned her head to the side. She couldn't even find the energy to lift the pillow over her head. Why had they left her alone with that baby? Why did they keep saying that was her daughter? She and George never had a daughter.
Her cheeks were wet, tears leaking weakly from her eyes. She let them flow, no motivation to stop them, no energy to muster up a proper sob. Why had this happened? Where was the happiness the baby was supposed to bring? Where was George? He was supposed to come back with the baby, to be a part of her life again. Marina knew he was dead – he was never going to come back physically, but she had thought she would feel him with her at least.
She turned and looked at the miniature of him on the bedside table, so handsome, so smug. She hated him as much as she hated everything else in this whole rotten world. He had abandoned her, just like everyone else had. And now she had to deal with this screaming baby.
Someone knocked at the door, so lightly Marina wasn't sure she had heard it beneath the baby's screaming. Then there was another knock, louder this time.
"Marina? May I come in?"
Philip. God, she hated him most of all. If only he had never agreed to this marriage, she could have been thrown out of London in disgrace. Maybe if things were bad enough for her, her father would have taken her in. More likely she would have been out on the streets, given birth in an alleyway and died – mercifully died – without ever having to listen to this wailing.
Philip came in when she made no reply, looking in shyly. She narrowed her eyes at him, and then closed them. Maybe he would deal with the baby at least.
She heard him moving across the room, murmuring softly to the baby. The crying changed pitch and slowed a bit, and then started just as strong. She couldn't stand it.
"Make her stop."
Philip brought the baby over to the bed. "She's hungry," he said. "I can't help her."
Marina looked up at him, holding the crying baby in his arms. He looked at the baby and Marina could see that he loved her – and she hated him for it. He wasn't even the baby's father and he loved her, so why couldn't Marina feel that way? She felt jealousy bloom in her chest and held out her arms.
"Give her to me," she said. She couldn't seem to love the girl, but she could at least feed her - something he could never do. She pulled down her shift and held the baby to her breast. It latched on quickly, but she barely felt anything. She really ought to feel something. She looked up at Philip again, but he was looking away. She wanted to say something spiteful to him, wanted to see him hurt, or see him get mad, but when she tried to think of something to say all she could think of was that alleyway, of lying peacefully in a puddle and never waking up.
She must have dozed off because she woke again to feel Philip lifting the baby off her chest. "What are you doing?"
"I'll change her and put her back down," he said, walking away with the baby. Marina knew she ought to be protective of the baby, ought to feel something when he took her away. She was supposed to be filled with love and joy, and instead she was wishing for death. Everything was wrong.
He turned back when she started sobbing. "Marina, what is it?"
"I don't know," she said. "I don't know what is wrong with me. Why can't I love her?"
He looked at her silently for a long time. She wondered if he hated her even more now. "I don't know," he finally said. "Do you want to hold her again?"
"No, I'm afraid I… I might hurt her," she whispered. She looked up at him, and he looked more worried than angry. Tired. "Can you hold her? You love her."
He looked down at the baby and his expression softened. Why was it so easy for him? "I will hold her tonight," he said, and sat down with her in the rocking chair. The baby made happy little noises, and then was quiet, and Marina lay back and closed her eyes, drifting away to the soft sound of the rocking chair moving back and forth on the floor.
She could never sleep long. The baby was always waking, always hungry. Whenever she woke Philip was there with the baby, handing her over to Marina. She felt like a wet nurse – she felt like Philip was the real mother. She wondered idly how long it had been, shouldn't he be going to work?
Mrs. Crane returned on the fourth day. Marina had forced herself out of bed and downstairs that day. Going down the stairs had been agonizing – her whole body was pain – and sitting down in the kitchen was even worse. But she was determined to at least eat a meal before going back to bed. She needed to do something.
Mrs. Crane found her in the kitchen, silently weeping over breakfast. "Oh my dear," she cooed, stroking Marina's hair, "it's alright. It's alright."
Marina shook her head. "It's not. I'm broken. I can't even be a mother to that baby."
"You'll be a fine mother. It just takes time."
"No, I don't even like her," Marina said. "What kind of mother doesn't like her baby?"
Mrs. Crane was silent for a long time. Marina was reminded of Philip, of his careful, calculated silences. "It happens sometimes…" she said at last. "It's hard to talk about, so most women don't, but sometimes you just don't feel a connection to your baby at first." She continued petting Marina as she spoke. "I was that way when Philip was born. It was so strange – George, I loved from the moment I first saw him. I couldn't get enough of him. And Philip was a good little baby, but at first I just couldn't find it in me to care, about him or anything else really."
"But you did grow to love him?"
"I did. I felt like I was living in a fog, and then one day it cleared and I was myself again, and I loved him just as much as I loved his brother."
Marina started crying again. She cried because she hoped it was true, she hoped she would be herself again. She cried because she was afraid that what had been true for Mrs. Crane would not hold true for her. She was afraid her life would be this way forever.
"Come. Let's go see my granddaughter."
They went upstairs to where Philip was sitting in the rocking chair, gently rocking the baby in his arms. He got to his feet when he saw Mrs. Crane in the doorway. "Mother! You're here!"
"I am, and shouldn't I be?" she asked, coming in and taking the baby from his arms. She fussed a bit, and then settled again in Mrs. Crane's arms. "Hello my little darling." She looked up at Philip, then at Marina. "Now that grandmama's here, don't you have work to do?"
Philip nodded and rushed out, but Marina had no work to do. Mrs. Crane turned to her then, and told her to sit in the chair. "You hold on to her." When Marina protested – she was afraid of hurting the baby – Mrs. Crane insisted. "You keep on holding her as much as you can stand. She needs to know you, and you need to know her too. I'll sit right here and make sure you're alright, and you can sit with her as long as you need until you feel right again."
Marina took the baby and looked down at her. She was so small, so warm. Her hair was dark and curly, what little there was. She was just so fragile… Marina felt panic rising in her, and tried to give the baby back to Mrs. Crane.
"No, you're alright," Mrs. Crane said. "Tell me, have you thought about a name for her?"
Marina shook her head. She kept staring at the baby, trying to memorize the look of her, as though memorizing her could force fondness. "I was so sure she would be a boy. I was going to call him George."
"I see… Well, what about Georgina?"
Marina traced the baby's cheek with her fingertip. The baby wrinkled her nose, but stayed asleep. "I don't think that is her…" It didn't feel right, giving George's name to this little girl. Marina knew that she was his, as much as a son would have been, but she was somehow less… him. "I don't know her."
Mrs. Crane put a gentle hand on her arm, and Marina felt hot tears on her cheeks again. She hated this. She felt like she had no control over her own body anymore. "You will, my dear," Mrs. Crane told her softly.
Marina kept staring at her baby, gently wiping the tears off her cheeks as they fell from Marina's eyes.
