When the daylight has faded

It's all relative (#relative)

I pinch myself hard, hoping to make myself wake up from this nightmare within a nightmare. But the voice on the other end of the line carries on regardless.

"So you see, it is of vital importance that you get the document to me asap. The boss wants it by yesterday, and it was you who created it. It's been nearly a year, Astrid, and you..."

My toddler tugs at my trousers. I look down at my beautiful baby, hardly noticing the big scar behind her ear these days or the way her left eye is drooping.

Nelly's last release from hospital was three months ago, with the doctors confident that she would not suffer another stroke.

Playing with one of her fine, blond strands of hair, I stifle a sob, remembering Nelly's first operation. Two hours into an eight-hour operation to remove the cyst pressing on her optic nerve, tilting her eye socket and making her eye wander towards her mouth, we received a phone call. Try as I might, I cannot suppress the memory.

"We are very sorry to inform you that the vein we used to monitor Nelly's circulation has collapsed, but we immediately performed an emergency procedure and managed to save her leg. We will start brain surgery now."

"Mummy, Nelly hungwy." My daughter's soft body presses against my leg, while the harsh voice on the phone is still droning on.

"Just get it to me, Astrid!" The voice sounds impatient now.

I place the phone on the table and pick up my sweet bundle of cheeky grins and residual baby fat.

"I'll fix you a sandwich in a minute, baby," I coo into her ear, while her pudgy fingers tug at the necklace with the cheap, shiny pendant.

"I mean it's not my fault that you're still on the sick. Should have sorted it before you left." The voice follows me into the kitchen, volume and anger rising by the second.

Nelly sticks the bread I handed her into her mouth with enthusiasm.

Nelly's eyes are only a blurry outline to me these days, but at least she has two eyes again, after the doctors managed to form a new eye socket out of a part of her skull, another operation my baby endured, this time without my support.

I go and fetch the phone, too exhausted to ignore the voice.

"I handed everything in before I left, Henry." Instead of anger, all I feel is tiredness. "I gave it to Brigitte. Ask her!"

Despite the medically-induced forgetfulness, the guilt will not let me go. I should have been there for Nelly. Instead, I was lying in a hospital bed myself, unable to rip my hair out with frustration because it had already fallen out by itself.

"Brigitte? Brigitte? Jesus, Astrid, the woman's workload is huge! Humongous! You can't seriously be suggesting that I trouble her with this problem. You should see her, Astrid, then you'd understand. We need to support her now, not add to her burden."

I press the red button on my phone and hurl the damn thing out of the window. Then I bend down and, bones aching, stretch out next to Nelly, breathing in her sweet baby scent.

Dedicated to my fantastic colleague, a woman whose strength is rivalled by nobody I know.