“I just…” I force my frustration back down. “I don’t want to be a burden. Or worse, a danger.”
“Myself. My…” I breathe in sharply. “My b-baby.”
Dr. Knox pushes her notebook aside. “Do you know what postpartum depression is, April?”
I blink. “I thought it was too early for a diagnosis.”
“It is. But I did say I had an inkling.” She crosses her legs and takes a sip of her now-cold tea. “So? Ever heard of it?”
“I… Yeah. My mom, she—she went through that. Not with Charlie, but…”
“With you,” she fills in.
Another rapid scribble. “Tell me what you’re thinking right now.”
“Just now, what were you thinking?”
“I guess…” I twist my hands in my lap. “‘Figures.’”
“Yeah. Like, sounds about right. That she’d get sick with me and not with him.”
“So we’re blaming ourselves then?”
I frown. “Kind
