Little Darlings

by Melanie Golding

She felt relief that they were no longer in there, and guilt at feeling that relief, and a great loss that they had taken the first step away from her, the first of all the subsequent, inevitable steps away from her. Was that the love, that guilty feeling? That sense of loss? Surely not.

The erosion of enthusiasm for self-sacrifice can happen fast in those for whom it’s an effort to start with. It can be like dropping off a cliff: I care, I care, I care, I don’t care; for how long exactly are you planning to be ill?

Home seemed like a different country, one to which she might never return.

Not actually working, he’d said, as if looking after the boys wasn’t work.

He was so beautiful to look at. Such good stock. The sort of man who made you want to breed, because you knew your children would have a head start, looks-wise.

Look at someone every day for long enough and you stop seeing what everyone else sees. You start to see what no one else sees, what is kept hidden from most people.

He was using his work voice, trying to market motherhood, to her.