Jenna's gaze broke from the pink envelope lying on the dresser in front of her. Lulu was crying again. Fuck.

It never stopped—first it would be a poopy diaper, then a feeding, then burping, then the diaper again, then a nap, but she wouldn't sleep, so just more crying. In the montage of caring for her, Jenna was barely aware of the quiet, peaceful moments. They never lasted long enough, never gave her enough time to go to the bathroom, or sleep, or do anything worthwhile.

She lay there in bed, defeated. She had just fed the goddamn baby and changed her diaper not even twenty minutes ago. Vaguely it occurred to her that a child needed more than those basic needs met, but the urge to meet them wasn't stronger than the powerful force keeping her planted in bed. Jenna tuned out again, her gaze falling back to the pink envelope, ignoring her squalling child.

A piercing scream broke her stupor, and Jenna roused herself enough to go peer at her baby in the crib. She used to smile at the sight of her blonde-haired, blue-eyed child, but not anymore. Now it was just a cold distance on the best days, and utter repulsion on the worst. Today was one of those. Looking at the snotty baby lying in the crib, Jenna struggled to believe it was hers.

That was when she noticed Lulu's feet—they were practically purple, with the tiny little toenails completely white. Her eyes traced back up and she realized her mistake—she had put on one of Lulu's old newborn onesies when she changed her earlier. The little leg holes must be cutting off the circulation to her feet. Jenna unbuttoned the crotch strap and Lulu's screams grew louder for a second as the blood returned. Within a moment, however, she quieted, bringing her fist to her cheek and fixing Jenna with a perfect, gummy smile. Jenna wanted to slap her.

The force of the hatred hit her like a punch in the stomach, and she immediately sat down on the bed, tears springing to her eyes. What the hell?

Without a second thought, she lifted Lulu from her crib and carried her out to the living room. Dawn was sitting there with the history channel on in the background, working on a hyper-realistic imitation of Betsy Ross' original US flag.

"What's up sweetie?" Dawn looked up as Jenna approached, her glasses slipping down her nose.

"Could you take Lulu?" Jenna didn't even try to hide the tears, shoving Lulu into Dawns arms and backing several feet away.

"Oh my god, what's wrong? Is she ok?" Dawn held the baby up, peering at her unbuttoned onesie.

"I just—" Jenna's voice choked off and she turned and fled back to her bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her. The crib was in her way to her bed, so she kicked it with all her might. The force of the kick felt like it broke one of her toes, and she toppled over onto the ground.

Time slowed down and Jenna seemed to dissociate as she fell. There she was, watching her own body lying there on the ground, a snuffling, pathetic mess. Jenna felt her lip curl in distaste at the pitiful person in front of her—was that really her?

Then she snapped back into her own body, her head exploding, holding her blisteringly painful foot, breathing in the carpet fibers that still smelled like shampoo from when they bought the house.

"Jenna?" Dawn's voice penetrated through the door of her room, followed by a gentle knock.

"Don't come in!" Jenna gasped. Nobody could see her like this.

"Jenna please, you have me so worried. Come out here and we can talk."

"No! I'm fine, Dawn. Please, just leave me alone."

You wanted to hurt your baby. Her conscious chose this moment to berate her, and the tears overtook her. Hatred was the proper emotion—deep, intense self-hatred. For being a pathetic, lonely, brat who thought she could make it on her own in the first place. For thinking she was above the way Earl treated her; clearly she wasn't. For thinking she was worthy of Jim's—Dr. Pomatter's—love, for ruining his marriage. For the burden she had become on Dawn and Ogie and Cal and Becky and her own child—who she had wanted to hurt.

Nausea rose in her stomach, overpowering her other senses and making her frantically reach for the trash bin next to her dresser. She yanked it towards herself and bent over it, ready for her stomach to expel its contents—which she then realized were nothing. She had forgotten to eaten breakfast. And had she eaten dinner yesterday? She couldn't recall. Nevertheless, the nausea clawed at her, causing her to break out in a cold sweat and her vision to tunnel black and green around the edges.

She tried to inhale deeply, fighting the empty, shallow breaths that only sped up her pounding heart. She felt her heart skip a beat, it's rhythm suddenly irregular. Was she having a heart attack? Her arms tingled as though numb or falling asleep. Jenna desperately squeezed the bin in front of her, silently willing herself to vomit so this could all be over. It didn't work.

She faded in and out, a cold sweat on her brow, a weight in her chest, like somebody was sitting on her. The pain in her toe faded to a dull ache, but the tears never stopped. Would she ever stop fucking crying?

A knock at the door.

"Go away," Jenna squeaked faintly. She heard the door swing open and felt shame vibrate through her spine, clawing around her stomach and squeezing her heart even tighter. "Please Dawn, just leave."

"It's not Dawn." His voice was calm and gentle. Why was he here?

"Go away."

He opened the door. Why did he always see her at her weakest? And why did he stick around? Hadn't she ruined his life?

"What are you doing here?"

"Dawn called—she's worried."

"Could you please just leave!" Jenna sobbed. She felt the floor shake a bit as he slid down the wall and landed next to her.

"Jenna, it's ok. What you're feeling is ok. I know that seems impossible to believe, but it's true. Did you call the counselor?"

Jenna felt her shoulders shake with another sob. The nausea was fading slowly. Then his hand was on her back, feeling the damp of her sweat through her shirt.

She couldn't explain what she did next.

She flung her arm out, striking him on his shoulder. Another punch was quick to follow, until she was flailing at him, never landing a square blow but assaulting him nonetheless. He covered his head, bearing the brunt of it, not trying to move away. Every ounce of anger she felt flew out of her; assailing him. She punched until she couldn't punch anymore, until she was out of breath and her hand was aching. She let her arms drop slowly, shame coursing through her.

They stayed there for a moment like that, him hunched down, her with tear-tracks down her cheeks, hair sticking to the damp spots.

"Jim, I'm—"

"Please, Jenna," he raised an arm to silence her. She brought her knees to her chest and set her chin on them, waiting for him to speak. He didn't say anything, just sitting next to her.

"You need to leave," she finally broke the silence. He didn't move, didn't respond.

"I ended it for a reason and like I said; this mess is mine. Having you around is only making everything harder."

"Jenna, you're not ok. You could seriously hurt Lulu, or yourself."

"I'll call the goddamn counselor. Is that what you want to hear?"

"No! I want—" Jim broke off. The exasperation in his voice was painful to hear. Jenna paused, waiting to hear what he had to say. He said nothing.

"I need you to leave," she whispered quietly, levelly. "Please. Just leave. I ruined my own life and now I've ruined yours too. Please don't make it harder. Just go."

He looked up. Jenna couldn't take it, and she braced her head between her knees, the nausea overtaking her again. She couldn't look at him.

"Jenna—"

"Goddammit Jim, just go!" she sobbed. He stayed there a moment longer, then finally rose and left.


"Jenna?" Dawn's voice broke Jenna's miserable reverie.

"Could you just feed her, please? I can't right now." Jenna stared at the bed in front of her. The fitted sheet had come off from the corner, and she was examining the print sewn into the mattress. How much time had passed since Jim left? Jenna couldn't recall. It could have been days. Who knew, really?

"It's not Lulu," Dawn's voice was hesitant. Jenna didn't respond. "It's uh, it's Dr. Pomatter."

"I told him to go away. Just make him go. Please. Why'd you even call him?"

"Because he's your doctor! But uh, he's not here."

"Sounds like the opposite of a problem," Jenna laughed bitterly.

"He's in the hospital, Jenna."

"Well yeah, he works there."

"No, an ambulance took him."

"What?"

"He uh, he's in the hospital, I guess. His wife said you were his emergency contact—I have them on the phone now—the hospital, I mean."

Jenna was up in an instant, bounding across the bed and plucking the receiver out of Dawn's hands in a flash.

"Hello?" she said breathlessly.

"Yes, hi, Mrs. Hunterson?"

"That's not my name anymore but yes, it's me. Jenna."

"Yes, hi, we have Jim Pomatter here, his wife said she was no longer his contact and that you should be called. He's in surgery now."

"Surgery? For what? What happened?"

"Why don't you come on down here—we have some paperwork for you to sign since Mrs. Pomatter has revoked her legal right as his medical proxy. Can you get here soon?"

"Yeah, I'll be right there," Jenna replied.

"Ok ma'am, please hurry."

She hung up the phone and turned to face Dawn.

"Why do you have to go?" Dawn asked, clearly confused. Why would Jenna be the emergency contact for her OB?

"Uhh, I'm not sure," Jenna hedged. "Listen, Dawn, I owe you an apology."

"I think we owe you an apology, actually," Dawn cut in before Jenna could continue.

"No absolutely not, I won't even let you think that—"

"Listen, Jenna. We knew when we asked you to move in that you would struggle with relying on us. We thought giving you space would help you feel independent and ok with the arrangement for as long as you needed. Clearly that was way off, and we should have realized a long time ago." Dawn wiped at her eyes with the edge of her cardigan. She had to have been thinking on this for a while.

"That's still no excuse for how I've treated you recently, especially in the past few days. And Lulu. I'm just. . . I don't even know the words."

"It's not. . . I mean, it doesn't. . ." Dawn petered out. What was there to say?

The two women stared at each other. It had been a good long while since they had talked, really talked, offering each other advice, or gossiping about meaningless things. Jenna tried to remember the last time she had seen Becky either. Had it only been twice since Lulu was born? Everything was strained, distant where it hadn't been, still there, but more tentative.

"You go. I've got Lulu," Dawn practically whispered.

"Yeah. Ok." Jenna paused again before reaching out and pulling Dawn into a hug, pressing Lulu between them. She breathed in the smell of baby and Dawn's shampoo. "I'm going to need some help with Lulu over the next few weeks, if that's ok. I'll call Becky too—it's been too long since I've seen her."

"Yeah, she's been worried about you. We all have."

"I'm worried about me too, to tell the truth," Jenna squeezed Dawn tighter in her arms. "But I'm going to get better. Now I really have to run. Jim—uh, Dr. Pomatter— needs me, I guess." Saying the words didn't make them feel any less strange.

"You call him Jim?" Dawn pulled away and looked at Jenna skeptically, the beginnings of understanding appearing in her expression.

"Uhh, yeah. Jim. I gotta run."

"You owe me an explanation!" Dawn called as Jenna hustled down the hall.

"Sure, sure," she yelled back absent-mindedly.

She bundled her jacket on quickly and stepped out the door. The entire bus ride to the hospital was spent in a jumble of nerves. What happened?