Leah POV
Since the revelations made by Liv, Sophie had been struggling to contain her emotions in every way possible. She was irritable, emotional, and lacked that bright smile that I had fallen in love with all those years ago. I wanted to tell myself that it hadn't been a struggle, but as the days rolled by, it became clear that the old Soph appeared to be gone. Of course, I'd tried the obvious things: the words of affirmation, the silly little jokes that used to bring that hearty laugh to the surface, and the embraces. None of them worked.
I'd never been one to diagnose any kind of problem using the internet, but with my ideas quickly running out and Sophie's refusal to speak to me about how she was feeling, it felt like my only option. It wasn't hard to find time to do so; Sophie had been going to bed at least an hour before me every single night, making sure she slipped into the bathroom to get changed so I couldn't walk in. Maybe it should've been obvious to me, but when you feel like your relationship is falling apart, it isn't always easy to see the wood from the trees.
The internet told me the likely culprits—a never-ending list of reasons why my wife didn't want to be anywhere near me anymore. I knew that the suggestion that anyone else was involved wasn't at all fathomable; Sophie rarely left the house now, and when she did, it was usually to see one of our parents. Other options seemed more likely: body image issues, trust issues, stress, or depression.
Body image seemed possible. She refused to change around me, hated when I proudly attempted to snap pictures of her, and the upcoming law awards invitation had sparked an undeniable sense of dread to wash across her face. I couldn't understand it. I couldn't understand how Sophie could think she was anything short of perfect. Maybe it was selfish of me to eliminate that one on the grounds that it was impossible once I'd thought about it, but how could she not feel beautiful?
Trust issues. The insecure part of my own brain wanted to take that as a personal attack, but the side that Sophie had helped me develop over the years allowed me to realise that trust issues could come from anywhere, and I had just been the person to notice it. From Rhys' selfish decision to use Liv as some kind of emotional blackmail to Sophie's trust in her own body after Teddy's birth, the list of reasons why Sophie might feel that she shouldn't trust anyone, or anything, right now was endless.
Stress. She'd always been a stress head. Sophie thrived on leaving things to the last minute and then giving herself a ticking time bomb to complete everything on time. With a baby, that was no longer possible. Perhaps the inability to make free time and just cram everything in at the last moment was getting to her more than I had realised. On top of that came the months of stressing that she had done over my own downward spiral. Everything had been so focused on myself and Teddy that Sophie came last in some imaginary pecking order.
Depression. When I was younger, I'd look at depression as everyone else with no experience did. I thought to be depressed, you had to be in bed all the time, cry the entire time you were awake, and want to end your life. As I grew older, I realised that functioning depression was a real-life thing, like a functioning alcoholic. Sophie didn't fit the NHS guidelines for symptoms, but as I read stories of sufferers on the internet, I started to see similarities. One person said that they didn't want to do things that required too much effort because when they didn't enjoy them, they felt like they'd failed, which amplified their own feelings. Another said that they avoided people they were close to because they knew they'd be the first to realise they had a problem. I scrolled and scrolled as more and more comments began to fit the narrative: I only feel joy around my children; I struggle to feel close to anyone; I haven't slept with my husband in over eight months; everything I do just feels a little bit more exhausting now; I feel irritable a lot; I miss life before I had depression; it feels like the world is against me.
My next move should've been to search for help in speaking to someone about something like that. Communicating my concerns had never been my strong point, but I felt it was loveless to take advice from the internet on how to acknowledge my own wife's struggles.
I made my way to bed, finding Sophie reading a book and getting a small smile from her as I climbed in beside her. She gently closed the book, reaching for the light and turning away from me, complaining that it was too warm to cuddle. I should've waited... but I didn't.
"You can talk to me, Soph."
Silence.
"I know you're feeling like everything you do is a little more exhausting now, like the world is against you. I know you're scared, and you only feel joy around Teddy. I know you can't feel close to anyone because you don't want them to see how you're feeling. I see you, though, Soph."
Silence.
"And I want to help you. I want to help you feel like yourself again."
"I still love you, Le."
"I know that; you don't need to confirm that." I chuckled.
"How do you always know how I'm feeling?"
Fuck.
"Hm?" She chuckled, turning around and cuddling into my body.
Shit.
"Le?" She chuckled.
"I – eh – I googled."
Honesty is the best policy, right?
"What?"
"I Googled the way you've been."
Her body moved away seconds after I had finally felt her touch again as she raised herself onto her elbow to look at me.
"You googled?"
"Yeah. I want to help you."
"So you googled? What did you google?"
"Just – the way you've been – off." I stammered.
"Show me."
"Soph."
"No, show me!"
Why didn't I Google something better than this?
"My wife is acting weird." She scoffed.
"Soph – I didn't know how else to describe it."
"But weird seemed like a good fit, yeah?"
"No."
"No?"
"I don't know, Soph." I sighed.
"I don't know what's worse. You thinking Google could give you better answers than your own wife, or the fact that the thing you thought to Google was weird. Do you have any idea? Any idea?"
"Soph – don't – Soph!"
It was pointless; she was gone.
She eventually came back to bed, but a silence filled the room as we eventually fell asleep and when I woke the following morning she was nowhere to be seen. I expected to find her downstairs in some kind of mood, but I was greeted with a small smile as I entered the room and an immediate acknowledgement of the night before.
"Do you know what one of the definitions of weird is?"
"No." I answered quietly.
"Strikingly odd." She chuckled.
"Okay."
"Going from being happy all the time to being distant... that is strikingly odd."
"I didn't mean to offend you, Soph."
"I know. I know your heart is in the right place."
She took place on my lap and wrapped her arms around my neck, placing a kiss on my forehead and giggling lightly as she watched my smile grow.
"I'm sorry, Le."
"No, I'm sorry."
"Let me finish, yeah?" She interjected.
"Yeah." I nodded.
"I'm struggling with myself. It's not depression, stress, or any of those things you had opened in your tabs. I feel ugly. I feel like... maybe I want to, I don't know, hide away from the world. I hate that I feel this way because the reason that things have changed is because we have our baby now, but even when I try to justify it to myself, my mind tells me that I'm justifying my own laziness. It tells me that I could just get up earlier and get ready. It tells me that if I really wanted to look better, I'd make an effort to get new clothes. I'm too tired, though, Le. I'm too tired to get up any earlier than I already do, and I'm too tired to go shopping because it isn't just me anymore. It's not just about getting me ready. It's about getting up earlier so I can make myself presentable before Teddy is awake, putting the pram in the car, making sure I have everything that I need for every possible baby-related incident that could happen when I'm out, and making sure the dog isn't left in a room where he could chew apart a baby toy. It's exhausting. I wanted to tell you all of this; I didn't want to shut you out, but if I did that, you'd think you'd gone back to work too early. I feel guilty, and it feels fucking horrible, and I don't want you to feel that too because you are the only person, well apart from him, who makes this okay. Even when you think I'm not taking comfort from you, I am."
I used my sleeve to wipe the tears that were rolling down her cheeks, my heart breaking with every single word that left her mouth.
"It just – it feels like no one hears me. No one sees me." She sobbed.
Before her final sentence, I wondered what I could ever say to make any of this feel better for her. I knew that if I offered to take time off, she'd feel like she had made me feel guilty. I knew that telling her she was perfect as she was wasn't going to suffice because no matter how much I still loved Sophie, if she didn't love herself, that didn't fix this for her. Instead, I placed my hands on her cheeks, gently pulling her head towards mine until our foreheads rested against one another, and made sure not to break the eye contact I'd made with her.
"I hear you, Soph. I see you." I whispered.
She gripped me more tightly than she had in weeks, sobbing quietly into my neck and speaking only to whisper a faint thank you. It hadn't been a conversation with much depth from my end, but I knew now what she needed. Routine.
That evening, I told Sophie that I had some training plans to go over on my laptop instead spending time trying to wrap my head around our schedules. A few texts back and forth with mum requesting her help with Teddy cemented my plan, making my proud walk back into the living room feel even better.
"You're back." Sophie smiled, lifting her legs slightly to let me sit beneath them on the sofa.
"You missed me?" I chuckled.
"Always."
"I've got a plan, but if you don't like it or if it's too much, we can scrap it. Okay?"
"Okay." She nodded.
"So I have to leave at 8 Tuesday-Friday. Teddy usually wakes up around 6:30. That hour and a half I usually spend showering and eating breakfast, getting my kit together, and trying to find whatever I've lost that day..."
"Socks." She jibbed.
"Yeah, socks." I chuckled.
She seems happier, at least. Focus.
"If I had my stuff all set out the night before, my lunch ready, my car keys always in the right place... then I'd need half an hour, tops, in the morning. So, if I get up at 6, I get ready 6–6:30 before Teddy wakes, then you can spend 6:30–8 doing the things you used to do in the mornings before we had him."
"But then you have to get up earlier and change your usual routine, Le."
"Soph, I'd get up at 1 o'clock in the morning if I thought it meant your day would be better."
"That would make my day better." She smirked.
"Okay, maybe not 1."
"Ouch." She chuckled.
"What do you think?"
"I think I love you."
"Sorry?"
"I love you."
"Again?"
"I love you." She chuckled.
"I love you, Soph. I've spoken to mum too. I haven't told her how you've been feeling or anything like that; I've just asked her if she can take Teddy to let you get some stuff done through the day. She wanted to take him every day, obviously, but I've told her one is enough." I rolled my eyes.
"Can I ask you something? You'll be honest?"
"Anything, Soph."
"Do you think it makes me a bad mum – being excited to have that one day a week to myself? I always imagined I'd never want to be away from my baby."
"No, Soph. I think it makes you the best mum to be able to say, I need a little help along the way. Like when you told me that it was okay to struggle with the concept of being a parent."
"I did say that; you're right."
"Yeah." I smiled.
"Can we cuddle tonight?"
"I'd love that, Soph."
From the outside looking in, I had expected that it would be an overnight fix. I'd found the plan to fix the core of Sophie's stress, but common sense should've told me that the voices in her head wouldn't just disappear because the cause of the stress had been removed. Without knowing it, I repeatedly mentioned her trigger, thinking that it was something that would cheer her up. The awards ceremony was approaching, and I thought a day of shopping for an outfit would be the perfect plan to cheer her up a little.
Despite the day starting off on a positive note, the apprehension on her face became clearer with every shop we entered. Outfits that would usually be exactly what she was looking for were now being rejected by her: too bright, too dull, too boring, too eccentric. Every reason under the sun was used for her to avoid something, even if I wasn't sure what that something actually was. After three hours of shopping, she eventually settled for a surprising choice: an oversized suit with buttons that allowed her to close the jacket all the way to her neckline. It was then that I began to realise what this was all about.
I recognised it because I'd seen it before—that moment when someone thinks they're too revolting to wear the clothes they used to. I'd watched family members and friends pick out outfits that would blend into the background, with Sophie's choice of a darker grey suit making it obvious that she wanted to do exactly that. I thought back to the times when I'd tried to tell those people, you shouldn't care what people think or you look great; your mind is playing tricks on you. My words then had caused even more distress, and I was determined not to do that with her. It did blow my mind, though, that generation after generation felt they had to conform to some kind of social protocol that meant they had to look a certain way or be a certain size in order to be approved to wear what they wanted.
"Do you want to try it on, Soph?"
"Eh -" The overwhelming look of fear on her face broke my heart in a way I didn't know it could be broken.
"I need to run to the bank anyway, so I could do that while you try it on?" I asked again, knowing that her fear was that I would follow her into the changing room.
"Yeah, that'll do."
That broken heart seemed to shatter even further as I came to the realisation that her fear was linked to the idea that I would see her getting changed. Suddenly, every moment began to make sense. The mornings when she would tell me to stop wasting time when I'd try to wrap my arms around her in the kitchen, not knowing that she didn't want me to feel the shape of her body that she hated so much. The nights that I would hint at something happening between us, Sophie would start some kind of silly argument that I now knew was her attempt at making sure our plans of intimacy were called off. The locking of the bathroom door when she was getting ready, the oversized jumpers that she wore around the house, and the immediate irritation that became clear on her face when I mentioned any kind of event. Most importantly, the words that rang out in my head were the ones that she had spoken just a few nights before: it's not just about getting me ready. I wondered if part of the stress of getting two people ready was that no matter what she wore or how she did her hair, she could never feel ready because she always felt like she didn't look good enough to leave the house.
I walked in a circle outside of the shop, giving Sophie time to try on the outfit before I went back, not wanting to do anything that could cause her any more stress. When I eventually did return, she was thanking the cashier and clutching a bag in her hand, her face a far cry from someone who had just bought a new outfit that they loved. We began our walk back to the car, chatting about our usual topics, before we stopped at a coffee shop to purchase a drink for the drive home. I reached for my card, stopping in my tracks as the cashier uttered the words that I knew would completely catch me out.
"The card machine is broken; cash only."
Fuck.
"I – eh – I'll need to go – Soph, do you have any cash?"
"No. I thought you just got cash out?"
"I'll go get some; wait here."
Despite how flustered I was, it was obvious from her face that she knew I'd lied to her. By the time I had returned to the coffee shop, she was standing against the wall with a solemn look across her face. We walked in silence to the car, Sophie not even attempting to look in my direction.
"Where did you go?" She finally broke the silence as we pulled onto the motorway.
"I just walked around."
"Just walked around?"
"Yeah."
"Don't lie to me."
"I'm not, Soph. I just walked around."
"Did you call someone?"
Is she crying?
"Soph?" I whispered, placing my hand on her leg.
"Stop."
"Soph – hold on – we're nearly home."
"We need to pick Teddy up, Leah."
"He'll be fine for another while. We need to talk, Soph. This can't go on."
I hadn't meant for my words to sound so harsh, as usual. That wasn't clear to her, though, and by the time we had pulled up to the house, she was already in flight mode, rushing inside in a panic. I followed a few footsteps behind her, pulling her close to me before she made her escape upstairs and feeling her body jolt with every sob that left it.
"Hey, it's okay. I'm here; let it all out." I whispered, gently ushering her towards the sofa.
She curled into my side, moving my hands from her waist to her shoulders and letting her body relax when I was no longer touching a part of her that was made up of anything but bone. I had to say it now. I had to.
"You hate it, don't you?" I whispered into her hair.
"Hate what?"
"You."
"So much, Le."
"I could tell you how perfect I think you are, Soph, but that won't change it, will it?"
"No." She sobbed.
"What is it that you hate? Can you tell me that?"
"No." She shook her head.
"Because you don't know, or?"
"Because I'd be a hypocrite."
"How, Soph?"
Slowly, I'd pieced together the pieces of information that I had to make an assumption that turned out to be true, but this wasn't something I understood. What would make her a hypocrite? I decided not to pry, reminding myself of Sophie's famous words during any difficult case: I don't pry for information from the person I'm defending; I wait for them to get comfortable, and they tell me when they are.
Nonetheless, I couldn't deny that it made my heart hurt that Sophie didn't feel comfortable around me in any way. It was devastating enough to think that it was physical, but knowing that she felt uncomfortable discussing it with me was worse. Every part of my head wanted to remove myself from the situation, run as far away as possible, and take cover from any more heartache, but that very heart was the biggest reason to stay. Instead, I did the only thing that I knew would bring some kind of comfort to both of us: I wrapped my arms around her more tightly and hoped that something would change soon.
Minutes passed, soon becoming over an hour of silence, until Sophie spoke gently.
"I think I can tell you now. I can tell you why I'm a hypocrite."
The first thing I noticed before her words registered in my head was the vulnerability in her voice. It was the thing that struck mum hardest when Sophie was in labour; months later, mum had spoke of Sophie's tone, telling me how much it shocked her to hear anything but a confident voice coming from her mouth. Tonight, it was my turn to hear that vulnerability, and the most important part of my role was to simply act like I wasn't shocked by it.