REDAMANCY [h.s. au]

34

*very brief mention of postpartum depression

New York City
3 years prior
~no one's pov~

"Harry!" Melissa yells from the hallway. "Where's my other black suede heel?"

He comes rushing from the nursery, holding the freshly awakened five-month old baby girl in his arms. "What're you looking for?" He asks, blinking at her.

She wears a plum midi dress that skims her small figure. Her long, chocolate hair is pinned back into a sleek ponytail, exaggerating the beautifully sharp lines of her face.

Her sharpness, her chilliness, her bluntness, her dramatics, her sometimes biting tongue—these are all traits that Harry initially liked in her. Although, for the wrong reasons. The way she was a foil of Holland Becker. Many broken hearts will search for the one they love in everyone they meet, but not Harry. That hurt too much. So he went the opposite direction. The distraction worked, until it didn't—until he would lay awake at night soothing his crying baby and he'd let his mind wander to her.

"My other shoe, Harry," she says, holding up the one she has. "I need to leave in ten minutes."

Harry had forgotten that she has some dinner even for work. It would be just him and sweet little Ivy alone for the evening for the third time that week.

"I think I saw it under the bed," he remarks. "Here, hold her for a second."

He hands Ivy over to her, gently placing the baby in her mums arms. Melissa almost looks like a robot when holding her own child. All that sharpness, it wouldn't even soften for her own baby.

Harry was quick to pick up the whole parenting thing. Lots of family and friends prided him at being a natural—always meant to be a dad. He loved this new role of his immensely. It was the best job, best title, best thing he would ever do.

Melissa on the other hand, she did not take to being a parent so quickly. Harry didn't expect her to know what to do immediately. Sometimes those things, the bond between mother and baby, can be delayed, he'd read. He thought maybe she had postpartum depression and nudged her multiple times to go to the doctor or to go talk to someone about it. Eventually, she went to a therapist because Harry begged her. He wanted her to bathe in the happiness he felt being a parent, too. But, it wasn't a case of postpartum depression or anxiety. It was simply a case of not enjoying it and looking for any excuse to not be home with Harry and Ivy.

"Hurry up. I don't want her to spit up on me or anything. This dress is brand new," she shouted towards Harry as he lodged himself under the bed, searching for the damn shoe. He rolls his eyes, only because she can't see them right now. She'd throw a fit if she saw him do that, even though she does it to him all the time.

After a minute, he finds the shoe, walking down the hall and handing it to his wife who quickly shifts Ivy back into his arms. "She was being so squirmy," she remarks, holding onto Harry's shoulder as she slips the shoe on.

"You don't hold her how she likes, that's why she's all wiggly," Harry tells her, bounding a disgruntled Ivy, trying to get her to smile again.

"Why is it always my fault?" She asks, taken aback.

"Mel, that's not what I meant. If you'd let me show you. Or spend some more time with her, you'd get the hang of it."