Page 100 of Insidious

I don’t think my parents will ever fully recover from walking into that hospital room and realising that their daughter almost died by her own hand.

I don’t think any of us will. I sometimes wake up and sense that Isaac has just closed his eyes.

“That’s good,” she says softly. “That’s very good.”

I hear footsteps. Isaac appears in the doorway in grey joggers that hug that devastating butt and an old Black Sabbath T-shirt that clings faithfully to his rock-hard abs, rubbing the back of his neck while heading towards the kitchen. Through the well-worn material, I can see the shape of his cock. He grabs a glass from the cupboard and fills it from the water jug while Mum asks me why I look so flushed.

Mum spots him immediately.

“Oh. Hi, Isaac.”

Their relationship has … changed.

Before Mum left, she’d practically been running military operations around him. Detailed written instructions. Feeding schedules for me. Lists on the fridge. Colour-coded reminders.

I distinctly remember her standing in the kitchen, stabbing a finger at him, saying, “If she says she’s fine, assume she is lying.”

Now, four weeks later, she still calls him separately almost every day.

And Isaac looks like a schoolboy summoned to the headmistress’ office every single time.

I grin wickedly.

“Mum wants you.”

His shoulders visibly tense.

“What did I do?”

“Unknown,” I say solemnly, fluttering my lashes. “Thoughts and prayers coming your way, my friend.”

He narrows his eyes at me before taking the phone cautiously.

“Hi, Nora.”

My mother immediately launches into something serious enough that has Isaac straightening his spine.

Then he takes the phone into his office and shuts the door.

Suspicious. Very suspicious.

Naturally, I abandon the laundry and tiptoe down the hallway like the mature adult I am.

The office door isn’t fully shut, thank God. So much easier to eavesdrop.

“… and she needs proper rest, Isaac,” Mum is saying sternly. “Not just naps while holding the baby.”

“Yes, Nora.”

“And don’t let her skip meals because she’s busy.”

“Yes, Nora.”

“Has she started the calcium and iron again?”

A pause.

“Mostly. she says they make her constipated.”