But what was Gab going to do about Robbie? Their discussion dogged her. It was like she was living two lives—the happy student Gab who enjoyed her classes, who others got to know as part of their learning community, who thrived with the academic challenges in front of her, and who juggled her study and parenting responsibilities with dexterity and intelligence. Then there was the anxious Gab, the tumultuous Gab, the one who she became when she was awake in the night, feeding her baby, surrounded by shadows and haunting sounds in the dark. She was the Gab who bore the scars of Gina’s persistent dependence, which hadn’t relented even now, even if they had something new and positive to talk about—River—as they never had before. This Gab was being drawn down, down, into an ever tighter, deeper spiral, tormented by the thought of Tory, of Steph, of Robbie; torn by the desire for Robbie to care, to see what an amazing little person his son was, how adorable, how sweet—yet with a deep, bitter resentment at having to carry the entire load of responsibility alone … again …

And then again, she felt inclined to make the most of Robbie’s words—that he didn’t want to hear from her unless she could prove that River was his. This was her out. This was what she wanted. If she never proved it, she’d never have to talk with Robbie again, presumably. But then there was River—was he missing out if she didn’t ‘prove it’ to Robbie, like Melinda had said he would? Could she honestly tell her son now that his father was ignorant of his existence, as she’d planned to? She didn’t know and it was unravelling her. It was too much to figure out. She was not equal to it.

After exams were over, that anxious Gab was looming larger and larger. She crashed. She didn’t even want to leave the house unless she had to anymore, and it was all the more inviting to stay home because she now had an active, wriggly, noisy six-month-old for whom any journey out into the world meant utter preparedness, lots of energy and many layers of stress. It was easier to stay home, to avoid it all, to block the world out. Only in blocking the world out, she locked herself into her own mind-world, and it became bigger and bigger until it was engulfing her. The next semester of uni seemed a million miles away—a faint and hazy dream that might not even come.

“Gab,” said Freya one day after dinner, sitting down on the couch next to her, while River crawled back and forth along the lounge room floor after a jingly ball, “I’m worried about you.”

Tears spilled down Gab’s cheeks and Freya hugged her.

“I know looking after a baby is really, really hard. And you’re doing an amazing job,” encouraged Freya.

“But?” sniffed Gab. “I hear a but coming.”

“No ‘but’ is coming,” smiled Freya. “I think you’re doing an amazing job and I’m worried about you. You seem … I don’t know … ”

“Tired?” asked Gab. “Stressed? But isn’t that normal? Besides, I went to class, I finished exams, I managed all of semester with a baby.” Gab’s tone was flat, empty; she couldn’t even quite manage defensiveness.

“I know you did. And it’s stunning. But now you seem so sad, Gab!”

Gab began shaking with sobs.

“I am and I don’t know why!”

“Do you think it might be a good idea to ask for help?” Freya suggested gently.

“From who?” Gab sniffed.

“Well, the doctor. Maybe a psychologist.”

“I don’t need a doctor!” exclaimed Gab. “And definitely not a psychologist!”

Freya didn’t think it would be kind to remind Gab of the last time she’d said that, and she was wise enough not to press the point.

“Okay, no worries,” said Freya, getting up. “I’m going to get ready for bed.” She turned to River. “Goodnight sweetie-kins!” she said, bending down and giving him a kiss on his warm, soft baby head.