GUILTY 1

PROLOGUE I knew I was never meant to be a mother. The blood that runs through my veins is anything but maternal. The atoms and molecules that my body are comprised of simply aren’t equipped for such a task. For some women it comes naturally, as though they were destined for such divine greatness. At the mere age of eighteen, girls around me were longing to produce offspring. They described the feeling as natural and womanly. As though being a woman comes with this inherent prerequisite to nurture a child. It is instilled in us from birth. We are raised with this one goal in mind, to be mothers. I mean, what other purpose could we possibly serve in this world? We are women, after all. We are maternal. We are motherly. But apparently, I am not. I didn’t want to have children. That was a phrase that often left my mouth when I was young. ‘I don’t want kids.’ The statement that somehow invites listeners in, automatically giving them permission to respond. ‘You’re still young! You’ll change your mind once you get older!’ My mind didn’t change. Not when I turned twenty - six and my friends politely reminded me that my biological clock was ticking. Not when I took the pregnancy test and saw the double pink lines. It Didn’t change when I felt my stomach expanding for nine months, growing this new formed life inside of me that I didn’t ever think would be possible. My mind didn’t change when she came out of me, slimy and screaming, demanding my undivided attention at all times. Some women just aren’t meant to be mothers. But that doesn’t mean I killed my child…. Let me rewind and start from the beginning.

GUILTY 1 Danniella Waters Thursday May 18, 2016 I’m lying on the couch in the living room, drifting in and out of consciousness. I smell the burning candle from the kitchen, filling the air with artificial apricot. I’m comfortable, which is rare considering our couch is anything but, I manoeuvred my body in between the cushions, my legs dangling over the edge. I’m relishing in this tranquil feeling of serenity, which seems to be an uncommon occurrence these days. I’m awakened to the sound of Winston calling my name. At first I don’t move. I simply keep my eyes closed and Hope whatever he’s looking for he can find. He yells again, and it’s then that I realize his tone is that of panic. I open my eyes and sit up quickly, my pupils adjusting to the bright light. Winston rushes into the room, his jacket still on from work and comes to an immediate halt upon seeing me.

‘Where is she?’ he asks, catching his breath. My lovely husband, standing there demanding answers. I stare at him for a moment, trying to decipher his words. ‘Who?’ ‘Emerald! Who do you think?’ ‘In her crib.’ ‘No, she’s not.’ He looks around the room, then focuses his attention back on me. ‘Were you sleeping?’ He asks, as though this has just become apparent to him. ‘I must have dosed off.’ ‘So you don’t know where our daughter is?’ ‘I just told you, she’s in her crib.’ I stand up, straightening out my shirt and brushing the strands of hair out of my face. He stares at me with focused eyes, silently willing me to listen to me. ‘I just checked her crib, Danniella. She’s not there.’ It is at this moment, finally - as though my natural motherly instincts had failed before when the warning lights should have been going off - that I feel my heart sink in my chest. ‘What are you talking about?’ I rush past him and hurry down the hallway into the nursery. I flick on the light and peer into the crib, only to discover that my husband was correct. Emerald is not there. My mind is blank and my words do not come. The thoughts in my head escape me, and I can’t seem to form a proper sentence in what I intend to say. The first thing that comes out of my mouth. ‘She was just there!’ Seeing my inception of panic allows Winston’s façade to fall and turn to total chaos. ‘Call the police,’ he turns and heads back towards the living room. I pry my eyes away from the vacant crib and watch him disappear down the hall. ‘You think somebody took her!?’ ‘I don’t know, Danniella!’ he yells back. ‘She’s a six - month old baby. Where the hell else could she have gone?’ Unsure of whether it’s the sharpness of his words, or the fact that what was just a moment of uncertainty has now turned into a full reality of mayhem, I start to cry. My husband does not approach me or comfort me in any way. I head back to the living room and he rushes past me towards the kitchen to grab the landline. I hear him dial, wait, then say. ‘My daughter is missing.’ He tells the 10177 operator what happened - he came home from work, found me sleeping on the couch and went to check on Emerald. But when he looked in her crib, she wasn’t there. He recites our address and pleads for them to hurry. He hangs up the phone and it’s silent for a moment before I hear him start to cry. It’s always difficult hearing the one’s closest to you cry, especially men, who pride themselves in being strong and shedding no tears. I’ve only seen Winston cry on one or two occasions. He’s trying to be quiet, trying to accomplish one of those silent cries in hopes that I won’t hear. But I do. I walk over to him. ‘She was just there.’ He raises his head and looks at me. It is then that I see the anger in his eyes. He turns his head and walks into the other room. ‘Winston!’ I follow after him, ‘Save it, Danny.’ I catch up to him and reach for the back of his shoulder, gently. He turns around to face me, that look still in his eyes. ‘I’m sorry!’ I cry. ‘For what? Losing our daughter? Or …is there something else you’re sorry for? Did some stranger come into our home and take her? Or did her own mother do something to her?’ ‘What are you talking about!?’ ‘You know you have issues, Danny! You have ever since she was born.’ he pauses, catching his breath. ‘Did you snap? Did her crying finally get to you? What the hell did you do?’ I flinch backwards, struck by his accusations. More tears stream down my face. ‘I didn’t do anything to her! You know me, Winston!’ ‘Do I?’ ‘Of course!’ I cry. ‘Believe me!’ ‘Yeah, well that’s a little difficult, given the circumstances.’ ‘You honestly think that I would hurt my own daughter?’ My heart is aching inside my chest. I’m offended and mortified all at once, not only for the fact that my husband is accusing me of hurting our daughter, but because at one point during these past six months, his words may have actually made sense. ‘I don’t know what you’d do. Honestly. And that frightens me.’ I stare at him, unable to say anything else. I hear the sirens blaring in the distance. They’re getting closer. I step away from him and walk back into Emerald’s room. Perhaps I’m hoping that if I check once more, she will be there. That we somehow missed her the first time and this was one huge misunderstanding. Oh what a pleasant surprise that would be. But when I look down into the crib, it’s still empty....