Until Proven Innocent

CHAPTER SEVEN

AFTER
Cordelia Waters
Friday May 19, 2016

Weston walks through the front door at 10:06 a.m. He hangs up his jacket – it's a fairly cool May morning – and walks right past me, down the hall, into our bedroom.

I follow behind him, shuffling my feet as I make my way across the floor. He stands in front of the dresser, pulling his shirt over his head. I stand there for a moment in silence, allowing my eyes to linger on his bare back. He's always been muscular. Staying in shape is a priority to Weston, even back when we first met. I remember how he'd set his alarm clock for six in the morning to go to the gym before class. The corners of my mouth curl upwards at the memory.

He looks over at me, eyes sharp as daggers, and not a moment later, turns back towards the dresser, pulls open the top drawer, and grabs a blue polo. He slips it over his head, walks to the bathroom, then shuts the door behind him. He might as well have slammed it in my face.

I'm not sure why he's so angry with me. Does he honestly believe that I did something to our daughter?

I shouldn't be surprised, really. Things haven't been the greatest with us for a while now. I'd be lying to myself if I said I wasn't to blame. He doesn't look at me the way he used to. He doesn't even touch me anymore. I can't remember the last time we had sex.

The last few months have been difficult, to say the least. But if he thinks it's been hard, he's clearly forgetting about what I've gone through. He can't continue blaming me and acting as though I'm the bad guy. I can't control what happened to me. I had a psychotic break. At least, that's what the doctors said. I honestly don't know what to think. I mean, a psychotic break makes sense. What else could explain my severe depression and excessive mood swings? I admit, I had ill feelings towards this pregnancy from the beginning. But simply not wanting a child doesn't cause extreme behavioural change... does it?

It was a psychotic break. It wasn't my fault.

I love and appreciate Weston. I know how difficult it was for him to go through all of that with me. Especially while practically raising Emerald on his own as well as taking care of me. My parents came in from Evanston and stayed in the spare room for a few weeks while things were at its worst. At least that way Weston could get some sleep and not lose his own mind while trying to help me find mine.

He was finally able to return back to work after the Christmas break in the beginning of January. That was a big deal for him, considering he owns the practice. People were continuously calling and rescheduling their appointments. But that is the sacrifice that he made for this family. I know how difficult it was for him, and he stuck by my side. For better and for worst, right? That was our worst.

But we made it past that. I got better. I began holding Emerald, feeding her – although I never could breastfeed – and spending more time with her. With constant watchful eyes from psychologists and the support from my family, I was able to make an almost-full recovery within four months.

I've been pretty much independent these last two months. Back in the swing of things: returned to work, able to go grocery shopping and get my to-do lists accomplished. I still have to meet with Doctor Wyatt once a week. She's been helping me through the entire recovery process. Ensuring to restore my wellbeing. And she adores Emerald. I guess I'm learning to as well.

Since I'm able to work from home twice a week, I usually keep Emerald in the play pen while I work at my desk. She doesn't cry too often anymore, thank goodness. I think the crying was what drove me mad. That constant screeching sound, loud enough to break my eardrums. I don't know how most mothers handle it. We have lunch-time and play-time around noon. She likes watching cartoons. She really loves music.