I watch Emma leave then stare out of the window, my mind blank.

“Hello, Patricia.”

I startle, hearing Mum call me by my full name.

“Hi,” I mutter. “Long time no see.”

Ignoring my comment, Mum shuffles closer. Her hair used to be the same blonde as mine. Now, it’s mostly grey and it’s grown out past her shoulders. Dad hated it whenever Mum’s hair got too long. He thought it made her look flighty.

“Congratulations,” Mum says, standing next to Rose’s cot and gazing down at her. “She’s beautiful.”

I stay silent.

Sighing, Mum steps closer again. For a second I think she’s going to lean down and give me a hug or something equally as ridiculous, but she crosses her arms instead.

“I’ve been sick for many years, Trish. Since before you were born, though I had no idea until recently what was wrong with me.”

I roll my eyes. “Sick with what?”

Mum has her gaze fixed on the floor. “Depression. Bipolar tendencies. Anxiety. Not the types of condition your father would have approved of.”

I scoff. “Is that your way of excusing yourself from the fact you were a useless mother?”

Mum slowly looks up at me and I wish I could take back my words.

“I was sick, Trish. I still am, though medication and counselling are helping. And it’s not an excuse. I should have been stronger for you and the boys. I should have been a better mother. I have so much regret and guilt I can hardly get myself out of bed in the morning.”

Rose is waking up. She’s jerking her arms about and her eyelids are fluttering.

“I’m not like you,” I say firmly. “If that’s what you’re implying. I’m not depressed and I’m definitely not checking out on my responsibilities.”

“I agree. You’re not like me. You’re a million times better in every way. What you’ve done with your life, honestly, it’s staggering, Patricia. You’ve had a successful career, travelled the world, bought your own house. You have wonderful friends and now a gorgeous baby. You’re so much stronger than me. You always have been.”

“I became independent at a young age,” I say sarcastically.

“Yes. You did.” Suddenly, Mum uncrosses her arms and grabs my hand. “Why are you in hospital?”

“Excuse me?” I try to pull my hand away, but her grip is vice-like.

“Tell me why you’re here. People don’t end up in hospital for no reason.”

Glaring, I yank my hand free. How dare she interrogate me like this.

“I don’t know,” I snap.

“You’re an intelligent woman, Trish. I think you know but you don’t want to say it out loud.”

“Mum, you haven’t seen me in years. How can you even presume to know anything about me?”