Hermione sat, bitterly exhausted, behind the steering wheel of her new SUV while idling in the driveway of her beautiful suburban home. The home they specifically bought for their growing family. They had been there nine months. Her husband, Sirius, didn’t care much for the house. He was indifferent to all the houses they saw, but Hermione fell in love the moment she stepped inside, as did their oldest daughter. The decorative wrought-iron railing with the stained wood banisters that ran up the stairs and enclosed the upstairs loft, twenty-five-foot ceilings with large picture windows overlooking the eastern sky, and the pool in the backyard, complete with a waterfall. Sirius, unable to deny them something that made them so happy, agreed, and within a month, they were moved in.
She gripped the wheel at ten and two, knuckles white with the effort of maintaining her composure; she rested her forehead between her hands as she slowly exhaled a shuddering breath. She fought the overwhelming urge to cry; God, she was so tired. A weariness so heavy had settled deep within her bones over the course of this hospital stay that she wasn’t sure how she would get through it. She lifted her head to try and center herself when she caught sight of her husband’s motorcycle. Sirius was home from work. She fixed her hair before using a baby wipe to clean her face and wipe away her tears. She did not care to hear Sirius ask what was wrong as if he didn’t already know. She had no desire to explain or justify her tears to him while he pretended to be oblivious. She needed another minute.
Their daughter, Lyra, was spending the night with her friend, so there would be no buffer between them; once she entered that house, it would be her and Sirius. Hermione was happy her daughter could spend time with her friend; it allowed her to forget just how horribly she was failing as a mother. When Hermione wasn’t home with Lyra, she wished she could be at the hospital with Aurora, and when she was at the hospital with Aurora, she wished she could be home with Lyra, and no matter where she was, she wished Sirius wouldn’t be there when she arrived.
After fifteen minutes, or possibly thirty— time had a mind of its own these days, Hermione cut the engine and exited the car. Her gait was slow, if anyone took a moment to look at her, they’d see the defeat that weighed down her shoulders and the sadness in her face—but no one looked. No one ever looked. No one knew how to act or what to say to a mother who came home without her baby. It made them uncomfortable. What if her baby never came home? Then they would really have put their foot in their mouth, so instead, they pretended not to see. She made the long walk up the short drive and entered her home. Loud music assaulted her, but she didn’t react; she expected nothing less. Sirius was cooking dinner, bumbling around the kitchen with not a care in the world. Or at least that’s how it seemed, she wouldn’t know, he never told her. In the last four months, their seemingly strong and loving marriage had devolved into smiling facades and superficial conversations. In their life before, they agreed that their relationship would always come first and committed to having those uncomfortable conversations because they valued their love and their friendship, but Hermione had nothing left to give. Especially not when her partner decided to bow out as the road got difficult, leaving her to navigate this journey alone. Everything she had left was laid at the crib of a premature baby living in a hospital in the neighboring town.
“Kitten!” Sirius exclaimed jovially, a large smile playing on his face. Lowering the volume on his phone, he walked away from his busy stovetop to kiss her cheek. “Lyra is with her friend until tomorrow afternoon, so I thought I’d make us something special for dinner.”
Hermione smiled weakly and sat at the kitchen table, “That sounds great, thank you.”
It didn’t, and she wasn’t.
“Anything new?” He asked, returning his attention to the controlled chaos on the stove.
She shook her head, shrugging as she watched him tinker around the kitchen. She wasn’t sure if he actually cared about the answer anymore. “Nothing new… stable.”
“How was your day?” this he asked more out of habit than actual interest; her days had been the same for the last four months—he knew that.
“It was fine,” she grabbed her water bottle from her backpack and took a long drink. The water was cold and crisp; she could feel it travel down her throat and wet her parched body. As she gulped it down, she realized this was her first drink of water all day. She filled her bottle early this morning, but it remained stored in her backpack until now. She forgot. She always forgot. She had a routine and oftentimes, eating and drinking weren’t a consideration.
Every other day, she drove fifty minutes into the city to the hospital where her daughter, Aurora, had lived since she was born four months ago after a traumatic, premature birth. Hermione walked the usual path through the halls, past the security desk, to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. She went through the ritual of scrubbing her hands clean, praying that she didn’t miss a deadly germ, and masked up before she was allowed through the doors. She walked through the beeps and alarms of the unit to their private room; the room Aurora was given for being the longest resident. She removed her portable pumps, stored her milk in the lunchbox she carried in her backpack, and lifted her daughter carefully from her crib. After expertly arranging the many wires and tubing attached to the tiny three-pound infant, Hermione placed the baby against her chest, and she could finally breathe. For the rest of the day, Hermione sat with Aurora in her arms while she went over and over in her head all the things she should be doing to be a good mother to Aurora and a better mother to Lyra. She knew she was failing at both. For Aurora, she could only provide breast milk and hold her. Nothing she did would improve her condition, and there was no convincing her otherwise: this was all her fault. It was her body that failed her baby, and now she was fighting for her life 12 weeks too early. As for Lyra, Hermione felt like she had completely abandoned her. She spent half her time away from home, leaving Lyra in the care of her grandmother. When Hermione was home, she tried her best to be present and like her old silly self, but it was no secret that she was different, and Lyra was the one who got the short end of the stick.
“I wanted to make something different,” Sirius’s voice cut through her train of thought, startling her slightly. She tried to pay attention to his words but found it difficult to concentrate. He brought her a plate filled completely with buttery noodles, bell peppers, onions, slices of kielbasa, and a chunk of garlic bread. “Let me know what you think.”
She took her fork and tried to spear a little of everything. She brought the food to her lips and immediately wished she didn’t have to eat it. The rich fragrance of the sauteed veg, usually a smell she found delicious, turned her stomach. The flavors were fine; she’d probably like it if things were normal, but it was ash in her mouth.
“It’s wonderful,” she lied. Fortunately, she was so exhausted that he’d never know she didn’t care. “You did a great job, Sirius.”
“Thank you,” he preened.
Sirius chattered for the rest of their meal, sharing anecdotes about work, employees, and customers. He owned a chain of body shops that specialized in motorcycles. Hermione nodded dutifully, throwing in a word or two when the conversation called for it, but not actually giving a single shit about what he had to say. She was simply waiting for him to retreat upstairs to their room before the low level of anger that constantly simmered below the surface bubbled over. Only tonight, he didn’t; he carried on and attempted to keep her engaged in conversation. Hermione could see he was trying to be intentional about connecting with her; she knew that his heart was in the right place with him wanting to make them a special dinner, but the time for effort had come and gone. Sirius prattled on, and if you asked Hermione what he was talking about, she wouldn’t be able to tell you. She watched him; he was freshly showered and dressed in his gray joggers and a fitted white t-shirt, his dark curly hair was tied in a bun at the base of his neck and his perfectly moisturized lips moved with enthusiasm as he continued speaking.
“Why don’t you ever go see her?” Hermione asked, abruptly cutting him off in the middle of his story.
Sirius’s mouth hung open momentarily, caught off guard by her interruption. He put his fork down on his plate as he considered her question. “I try to work as much as I can to make sure that you can go see her every day, as many days as you want or need…” he said.
Not an answer.
“Okay,” she tried to keep her voice steady, “but you never go see her even when you’re not working—” she continued to speak despite Sirius’s obvious discomfort. “Sometimes you’re working within walking distance from the hospital, and you still won’t visit her, even if only for a few minutes.”
Sirius leaned back against his seat, his arms crossed over his chest. Affronted, his previously joyful expression evolved into a look of defense and secret shame. He fixed his eyes on his plate instead of meeting his wife’s. His appetite for the delicious dinner he slaved over was sufficiently ruined. He was starting to close in on himself, but she wouldn’t play this game with him anymore. Whether he wanted to or not, she would have this conversation.
“I’m waiting for an answer, Sirius.” She said, moving her plate to the side and leaning over the table on her elbows.
“What do you want me to do, Hermione? I work my ass off so that you can be at that hospital as much as you can; I make sure Lyra is taken care of and has everything she needs while you’re gone; I’m doing my part.” His voice defensive and trying hard to find a leg to stand on.
“My mother usually takes care of Lyra and has even visited the hospital to see Aurora. So, again, I ask: why don’t you come visit her?”
Sirius turned his face away and scowled, properly offended by the audacity of his wife’s question. Four months ago, she might have rushed to apologize and killed herself with anxiety, hoping to make it right, but those days were long gone. She had nothing to apologize for, and even if she did, she wouldn’t. As for any anxiety she may have carried for hurting his feelings, it was now completely non-existent.
They sat there in silence for longer than Hermione cared for. She stared him in the face while he kept his gaze fixedly away from hers. She watched her husband, a man of integrity, a hard worker and diligent provider, a man she loved and respected, and her heart broke. It broke because, at that moment, she had never felt so alone. He had always been there. He went with her to the doctors’ appointments, he went to the ultrasounds, he spent the night with her when she was admitted into the hospital, and he held her hand during the emergency c-section, but as soon as Aurora entered the world at 1 pound 1 ounce and, against all odds, crying— he let go and Hermione walked ahead alone.
Hermione scoffed; she slapped her hands down on the table and rose to her feet. “She’s your daughter, too.”
As Hermione walked away, her dinner practically untouched, Sirius finally spoke. “I don’t want to get too attached…”
Hermione stilled but didn’t turn to face him. She didn’t see him drop his head in shame, using one hand to run over his head and rest at the back of his neck. She waited.
“…If she doesn’t make it out of the hospital, someone has to be okay.”
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, tears escaping, no longer having any place to hide. Her breath hitched at his callous admission.
“Someone has to be okay for Lyra. The kid we actually have.”
She snapped her head to face him, her hair whipping around her shoulders, her eyes red with fury, and her face glistening with tears. In her outrage she moved closer to him until she was face to face with him.
“We have two children, Sirius! Two!” She yelled, shoving two fingers in his face, “Whether she comes home or not, we have TWO daughters!” He winced and struggled to maintain eye contact with his wife, but he forced himself. “None of us are okay!” She angrily wiped her tears from her eyes as she stared him down, the admiration she once held for her husband dimming by the second. “Lyra is not okay. She has wanted a sister since she was two, eight years of waiting and she finally has her but, no not really. Not only is it a very real possibility that Aurora might not come home but it’s also a very real possibility that, because of stupid fucking Covid, Lyra might never meet her. Period. And you, who out of anyone in this family has the most freedom to come and go as he pleases has visited her a handful of times in the last four months and held her once” She slapped her hand flat on the table, “Once!” She scoffed at him, shaking her head at him as she backed away slowly, “I don’t even know who you are anymore. My husband— a loving, attentive, and present father— running like a coward. You are not okay.”
She turned on her heel and stormed up the stairs and into her room, leaving Sirius and his dinner alone at the table. Hermione entered her ensuite and grasped the countertop with her hands, bowing her head over the sink. A new mother separated and longing for her child is among the worst pains a woman can experience, but to unexpectedly lose your partner in the process—well, Hermione was at her wit’s end. The rollercoaster of emotions and hormones, of being postpartum and post-op, of being separated from both her children, of not knowing if things would ever be okay again— it was all too much. She grabbed the decorative vase from her side of the his-and-hers sink and, with a heart-wrenching scream of frustration and anguish, threw it against the mirror, shattering it into millions of tiny pieces, some falling to the floor around her. A thundering of feet and worried shouts bounded up the stairs and through the door to find Hermione in a sobbing heap of tangled hair and limbs. Wailing the cries of a heartbroken mother, the pain of which only a healthy child can alleviate. Sirius stood in shock watching as his wife fell apart on the floor before him. For the first time, he forced himself to watch; he would not turn away from her pain; he would not leave her to cope alone any longer. He was ashamed he had allowed her to take on a single part of this alone. He knew it was killing her, and he let it happen anyway— coward indeed. She was always far stronger than he, but he could no longer sit and watch her as she lay dying.
He kneeled by her side, placing a tentative hand on her back. She was startled at first, not realizing Sirius had taken the space beside her, and then her sobs began to subside into soft, hiccupping breaths.
“I’m sorry, Hermione.” He softly spoke. “I am so sorry I’ve left you to bear this alone.”
She rose from the floor to sit on the backs of her calves. He wiped the tears away with his thumb; she closed her eyes at the contact.
“I am a coward. You are so much stronger than I have the capacity for, but that’s not an excuse for leaving you alone in the trenches. I love you, and I am so sorry.”
She fell into Sirius’s arms, strong and comforting. Her arms around his waist, her head against his chest, his arms firmly around her, holding her close, and after months on the brink of drowning, she finally broke water.