Emma hadn't done much talking for the first few days she'd been in the hospital. Mostly she'd laid facing the wall, alternating between crying quietly and staring blankly. She still couldn't really believe everything that had happened. On top of all of it, somehow someone had found out where she was, or maybe paparazzi just liked to lurk around hospitals just in case, and she was sure it was all over the internet. She was meant to be promoting Palo Alto that week, to be jetting back and forth. Ava turned four months old that week. And there Emma was, in the hospital. Under suicide watch. By herself. Her mother was in and out of the hospital, going back to the house to check on Grace, and Evan and Ava, letting Emma know they were doing just fine. Part of Emma felt better, knowing that Evan had stayed, and was taking care of their daughter. Maybe he wasn't so hopeless after all. She knew to get better she would have to start talking, so on the second day, she did. She spoke to the therapist in the hospital, about how she'd been feeling. Everything. All of the depression, the animosity toward her daughter that she tried to hard to stop. All she wanted was to be a good mother, to love her daughter like her mother had loved her. To be good to her, for her.
She knew somewhere inside of her she loved Ava, she just couldn't seem to find it most days. Getting all of this off of her chest was such a relief to Emma. She'd been holding it in, keeping it all to herself, not wanting to sound like a bad mother. That was her biggest fear. She just wanted to be a good mother. After a few sessions with the therapist they decided to try her on some anti-depressants, to battle the postpartum she'd been diagnosed with. She'd been in the hospital for a week now. Missed the doctor appointment for Ava, but her mother had told her that she'd taken her. That Ava was doing fine and developing quickly, she'd gotten her shots with no problem and was all smiles. Emma knew it was supposed to make her feel better, but in a way it made it worse. Ava seemed almost happier without her. She had to shake her head at the thought, knowing it was ridiculous. She'd been on the anti-depressants for a few days now, and it may have just been her imagination, but she could actually feel a difference. Could feel a sort of fog lifting from her mind.
She had therapy in the morning, and it went well, discussing the way she was feeling. She missed Ava, and she missed Evan. More than anything, she just wanted them to be a family. She wanted a family of her own, a real family. And she knew that somewhere, Evan did to. Emma sighed softly after her therapy session, making her way back to her room, shuffling down the hall and slipping into the bed, grabbing the remote and flicking the television on. Her mother would be there soon, but for the moment, Emma just wanted to relax. She still hadn't seen Evan, or Ava, which at the time she'd been okay with. Insisted, actually. She couldn't stand the thought of either of them seeing her like she'd been. Like she still was, really. But right then, all she wanted was to curl up with her -- Emma didn't even know what to call him anymore. Boyfriend? Fiancee? She had no idea. Whatever he was, she just wanted to curl up with Evan and their daughter. She kept thinking how Ava would have to be bottle fed this week, and it made her stomach swirl with guilt. She tried to push it away, knowing she'd be back to her soon, but it did little good. Emma glanced up to the door, lips twitching in a frown before looking away. It was useless to hope, she'd told her mother to tell him that she didn't want him visiting, and it seemed like he'd listened, since he hadn't made an attempt to come in a week. She knew she couldn't be upset with him for following her wishes, but it still made her sad.
