Yes, it was me.

[Trigger warning… for all parents]

Kat, why? Just why?

You could have told me. I loved you; I would have understood. At any point – I would have understood it and I would have accepted you, but not like this.

Yes, it was me.

You know how much we wanted her. She was ours; our love, our hope, our everything. After all these years of trying, she would have been our love – but it’s okay. This wasn’t your fault. I forgive you, I know you didn’t want to do it. I know you didn’t mean to. You just loved her too much. It could have been me too; me too.

You were the best mother in the world, and you knew it. No mother can feel as much love as you felt. That’s why it was so hard. And I know how much you wanted her; how much you wanted to protect her. She was too pale and the doctor said she was sick and that she would need constant care and that we had to call if she would cough or have trouble breathing or if she would spasm or something along that line.

Really, it was my fault. I shouldn’t have allowed you to stay alone with her for so long. No one can stay awake for that long. I knew you told me to stay away and that you were okay and that a mother should watch her child and that I would never be able to calm her down like you did, but you could at least have allowed me to try.

Why didn’t you allow me to try?

And why did you not tell me when it happened?

I was hurt, you know? I was hurt that you didn’t allow me to touch her anymore. I understood, because of what the doctor said about her immune system, but I too wanted to touch her. But you could have told me back then, when I knocked on the door on the second day, rather than to just scream at me to go away.

I should have broken the door that day. But I was so scared of hurting you – or of hurting Marie. Those eyes, those beautiful little brown eyes, I just so desperately wanted to see them and I’m sorry if I made it worse by knocking every few hours and that I got angry and that I ordered you to come out and I understand that you didn’t want to come out; that you were hurt and that I was making it worse. But I didn’t know. Why didn’t you just tell me?

And the fourth day, you know, it just got worse. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted at you. But I so much wanted to see those brown eyes again.

I know you sneaked out at night; to the kitchen and the toilet. I know it. I heard you and I thought I should rush down to grab you and prevent you from locking that door again, but I was out of myself and in my mind, full of anger and fear and hate for you – for you not trusting me. And so I stayed up there.

Kat, I’m so sorry. I should have come down then. That must have been your call for help, that you came out. I heard your footsteps, how you went to the kitchen and back to the room and then to the bathroom and back; but you stopped on your way back from the bathroom, you stopped at the stairs for a minute or maybe two, and I knew that you were standing there, that you were struggling with yourself to come upstairs to the bedroom, but I was so angry and scared that I didn’t want to go.

I thought you would come up, but then you didn’t.

I lied when I said I went to work. I just sat outside in the car. I thought maybe you would come out of the house when I was gone.

I’m sorry; but it really was me. You didn’t leave me a choice. You know how much we both loved Marie. You know this love, a love that shouldn’t be taken away.

But you didn’t know I was outside, in the car.

I sat in that car every day, waiting for you to come out.

Two weeks out in that car and I barely ate – I had food, but I couldn’t get it down into my stomach; knowing that my wife was in there, in that house, locked in the baby room with the daughter that she refused to let me see.

And then, after those eight days that I was in the house and those two weeks that I was pretending to go to work but just sat in the car and growing the anger and fear in my chest – I saw you.

You went to the garden, Kat. I saw how you went out the back door and you threw the trash out and then you walked to the bus; all dressed up and with the baby bag.

I wanted to follow you, but it was rush hour and the bus could take the bus lanes while I couldn’t.

You were home already, by the time I came back. That day I was more confused than angry.

But at least you allowed me to look again. You can’t believe how much I wanted to storm into the room and grab her; just to hold her again; just to feel her in my arms.

I have to admit that I didn’t want to feel you in my arms that day. I wanted to hurt you and I think you felt that. But you have to understand that I didn’t mean it. She wasn’t just your child, but you acted as if she was just yours and you didn’t allow me even to touch her.

The only reason I didn’t storm in that room was that I was too scared you would take her away again.

And that night I heard her cry and it was strange, but I was so happy to at least, finally, hear her again.

Kat, that’s when I understood. I didn’t want to believe it, but I understood it then already.

And the next day you allowed me to come close. And you allowed me to touch her again. I’ve never felt happier in my life, then in that moment, picking her carefully from your arm. She was so big and she was smiling at me.

Kat, I’m sorry, but you didn’t leave me a choice. I wanted to stay quiet and to just pretend. You, of all the women, you should know that no loving mother should have her baby taken away.

It’s my fault that they took her, Kat. I called them. I didn’t know they would storm in and rip her right from your arms. I didn’t know what to expect, but I didn’t expect that. I never wanted to see you in pain.

Kat, I’m so sorry they took her away from you, but it was the right thing. It was the right thing to do.

I promise you, I will never forget Marie’s little brown eyes. Those little brown eyes that I saw in the hospital and the first day we brought her home. I left her in your arms, in the baby room, because I was so tired and you looked so happy. I knew Marie would be happy in your arms and that I should better sleep so I could help you in the morning.

Kat, I will never forget those little brown eyes. But you knew it was wrong. I don’t know what thoughts must have run through your head, while you were alone in that room with me screaming at you from outside every few hours. I know you must have been holding her and you must have been even more hurt than I could ever have been.

But none of this gives you the right to pass this pain on, Kat.

It was weird when I heard her scream that night. It was the first time since the hospital that I had heard her scream.

But it was wonderful, to hear her scream and hear you coo.

And then in the morning, when you allowed me to look at her again, and when I could finally hold her again – how heavy she was.

All that, Kat, I could have forgotten and ignored all that. All those, just tricks that my mind played on me, somehow.

I will never forget her little brown eyes. They were shining, glowing even from the inside. I remember them precisely and there is nothing more beautiful that I have ever seen.

Yes, I heard how you cursed me, but it was me that called the police. I’m sorry they took her away from you.

But when you put her in my arm, Kat, when you put her in my arm – that baby had blue eyes.

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