My stainless steel water bottle let out a stifled scream next to me as I lay in bed. I tightened the lid so the air wouldn’t escape. A stringy web hung from the ceiling, illuminated by the soft yellow of my lamp. Its shadow squirmed. How was it moving? The room felt as still as a corpse, as if someone were suffocating it with a pillow.

I gasped for air and sat up, clutching the duvet.

The black cloud in my mind wouldn’t relent. Thoughts circled like ravens. Headlines from BBC News. Piercing screams in countries far from reach. Obscene crimes in cities close enough to touch. Then Joseph. The enormity of responsibility that was thrust on my shoulders only last month. The raging guilt because I had so much but felt so little. Hopelessness chewing on my arm. The weight, unbearable. The ravens grew in multitudes. Became a dark blur.

I shut my eyes, but that only made it worse. My heart morphed into a wild deer. I pressed my hand hard against my chest to stop it from escaping. My mouth was dry. Was my bottle still making that shrieking noise? My arm tingled. Was I having a heart attack? Was this the end? I was supposed to cancel my trial of Paramount Plus tomorrow.

‘The baby is screaming, Rachel.’ Max stormed through the door.

The wild deer turned to him, submitted.

‘Rachel,’ he snapped, looking at me like I was mad.

Joseph.

‘I didn’t hear him,’ I stammered, rubbing my weary face. ‘I’ll get him.’

‘I’m trying to work downstairs,’ he said.

I yawned and drank some water. ‘Shall I cuddle him?’

‘How should I know? You’re his mother! Aren’t you? Just sort it out. I’ve got enough to deal with.’

Joseph’s scream pierced my ears, and I checked my phone. 1.30AM. Why was Max working? He said he’d stop putting in overtime. Why wasn’t Joseph asleep? I thought newborn babies were supposed to sleep. What should I do? Should I feed him? My body lay still, wanting nothing more than to shut down, to be that cobweb and sway in the dark, purposeless.

‘Rachel!’

I dragged my feet across the bedroom and stared at Joseph in the Moses basket. His cheeks were rosy red, and his tiny face scrunched like a raisin. His blue blanket was kicked to the end of the basket. How had he been making all that noise next to me, and I hadn’t heard anything? He was so defenceless. And yet so stubborn. Why didn’t I feel like smiling? I should have felt something. He was my baby. But the black cloud hung over me, humming bitterly. I picked him up, a fragile flower against my wildly beating chest, and took him into bed with me.

The light arrived, seeping through the olive curtains and onto Joseph’s small body. He was asleep on Max’s side of the bed. Max wasn’t there again. My head hurt. So, I took some paracetamol, closed my eyes, and drifted off.

‘RACHEL!’ I was shaken by thunder, large boulders grasping my shoulders. ‘What have you done? Joseph…where’s my…where’s your…Yes, an ambulance. Rachel!’

My mouth was really dry now. Hadn’t I just drunk water? I was so thirsty. I peeled my eyes open. They were so heavy. Where was Joseph?

‘Rachel?’

‘Max, I’ll get him,’ I croaked.

‘No, no,’ his voice sounded like feathery grass blowing in a gentle breeze. ‘He’s being looked after.’

The cobweb was gone. There was blue. It smelled clean. Too clean to be my house.

‘Where…’

Max pressed plastic to my mouth, and water flowed out, soaking my throat.

‘There was an accident, Rachel.’

‘Joseph.’ I tried to sit up, but my body wouldn’t comply. Machines, beeping, curtains drawn, the same blue as Joseph’s blanket.

‘He’s fine. He had a little tumble out of bed, but he’s okay now. Thankfully, there was a pillow on the floor. It’s you that needs looking after.’

‘Me?’

‘Rachel,’ he stared at me, his eyes a warmer brown than last night, ‘did you…?’ He studied his lap. ‘You took too much paracetamol.’

‘I had a headache.’

He nodded, holding my hand too tightly.

I painted a smile for him, and he painted one too.

‘I’m going to look after you and Joseph now. I’m taking some time off work.’

‘No,’ I shook my head, ‘no, I can do it.’

‘I know you can.’ He kissed the top of my head.

‘I’m sorry.’ The guilt raged again. ‘I know we need the money.’

‘You don’t need to be sorry. And we will manage. Joseph is my son. We are his parents, not you.’

‘I’m his mother,’ I wept.

‘And I’m his father. It’s time I look after you. Everyone needs looking after from time to time.’ He opened the blinds by the window beside my bed, and sunlight spilled onto me through the fractures in the bare branches. He held me close, and I let the weight of my black cloud shift onto his shoulders just a little. Just for now.