The medical diagnosis ultimately turned into a reality, or just about. I did not suffer, of course, from postpartum depression, but rather from profound discouragement and a permanent bad mood. Oddly enough Vincent started showing the same symptoms, even though he had not given birth or lost his job. Had it been a greater misfortune that had befallen us—the death of a parent, a serious illness (ours, or the baby’s), the actual loss of our financial resources—perhaps then the jolt would have been enough to bring us closer, or at least make us see things from a different perspective. As it were, in those stagnant waters in which Vincent and I moved, our relationship continued on its gradual course toward putrefaction. We never laughed anymore, or enjoyed ourselves at all. The most positive emotion I was able to feel toward him in several weeks was appreciation every time he made dinner or stayed home to take care of Lila so I could go out to the movies with a friend. It was a blessing, his relieving me. I adored my daughter and overall delighted in her company. But I also needed to have moments by myself and in silence, moments of freedom and escape in which I could reclaim, even if only for a couple of hours, my individuality. The world had shifted ever since we became three and it was amazing how, in this new configuration, parenting consumed what remained of our coupling. Compared to a river or even a small pond, an aquarium, no matter how large, is a space still too small for beings dissatisfied and inclined toward unhappiness, such as Betta splendens. Some people have similar minds. There is not space enough therein for happy thoughts or lovely versions of reality. This is how we were in the following months, seeing always the gloomiest side of life, neither fully appreciating nor delighting in our baby and the wonder of her existence, not to mention the infinite inconsequential events—the sun coming out, our health, how lucky we were to have each other.

At the end of May, when you began to feel the heat even at night, Lila got an intestinal infection that gave her a fever of almost 104. Vincent called from the office several times asking after his daughter. He was stuck in a hearing and couldn’t come home.

“I’ll have to stay late tonight,” he had said, “but don’t worry, as soon as I come home I’ll take care of her and you can sleep.”