“It doesn’t come right away for all mothers,” her mum had told her. “You’re exhausted. Just give it time.”

Essie had given it eight weeks. And still, whenever Essie looked down at Mia’s red, irritated little face, all she felt was … flat.

Every evening Ben rushed home from work, desperate to see Mia. If she was asleep (which was rare), he was devastated.

“Can’t we wake her up?” he’d plead.

“No one wakes a sleeping baby,” she’d snap, when what she really wanted to say was: “Why would you want to?”

Maybe it was just the exhaustion. In an hour her mum would come over and assume pram-jostling duties and the world would make sense again. Her mum came by regularly, snatching up the baby and putting her over her shoulder, soothing her with a repetitive thump to the bottom that Essie could never seem to imitate. Her mum never seemed bothered by Mia’s crying or fussiness—she held her as easily and naturally as if she was one of her own limbs. Usually she ordered Essie to go take a nap and Essie gratefully obliged. Problem was, the nap would always end, her mum would go home and she’d have to look after her baby once more.

Essie inhaled, dragging all that fresh air into her lungs. She was having that feeling again. A tingling—like angry pinpricks in her abdomen and chest—that Essie had come to understand was anxiety or guilt, or perhaps some kind of cocktail of the two.

“Oh, that,” Ange from across the road said when Essie described it to her. “Yes. Get used to it. It’s called “motherhood.”

That had been a blow. Essie had assumed the anxiety was one of those fleeting parts of early motherhood—like engorged breasts and night sweats—that were there one moment and forgotten about the next. But apparently it was one of those other parts of motherhood. The parts that left you fundamentally changed.

A woman around Essie’s age was jogging toward her on the path, dressed in black lycra and hot-pink trainers. Her soaking wet hair was looped into a casual bun. Ben had been pestering Essie to start running. “A good long run always makes me feel better,” he’d said yesterday. “You should try it.” Essie would have run, if she thought it would help. She would have run to the ends of the earth. She just wasn’t sure whether she would run back.

The jogger was wet through, but she didn’t seem to mind. She had a bounce to her step that was reserved for the young and fit. The free. Essie remembered having a bounce to her step once.

Mia started stirring in the pram and Essie realized that she’d stopped jostling. The jogger bounded past, and in the time it took her to disappear from sight, Mia had moved from confused to irate. Her face contorted and her head tossed from side to side as if desperate for answers. Who had the audacity to stop moving this pram? Did you not see I was having A NAP? Her face reddened and she took a breath, sucking in enough air to make sure her protest would be loud and meaningful. Essie shoved her fingers deep into her ears.

It was strange watching Mia scream and not being able to hear it. Better, really. Her eyes shut with the effort. With the rain in the background, Essie heard nothing. She felt nothing.

After a while, Essie started for home. She stopped at Cuppa Cottage and ordered her tea, extra hot, and drank it slowly in the chair by the window. She ordered another. The rain had stopped by the time she left the café. As she walked home she felt an acute sense of being out of balance—as though she’d been roller-skating or skiing and had just put on her shoes again.

Her mum was walking up her driveway when she arrived back in Pleasant Court. She stopped when she saw Essie coming and waved cheerily. “Good to see you out and about,” she said, before peering at the empty space around Essie. “Where’s Mia?”

Essie pulled her wet ponytail over one shoulder. A trickle of water ran down the side of her jacket.

“Essie,” her mum repeated, slower now. “Where is Mia?”

Essie shrugged. “I … left her. At the park.”

Her mum’s frown froze in place. Essie got the feeling that, for the first time in weeks, her mum actually saw her. “Which park, Essie? Which park is Mia at?”

“The beach playground.”

After that her mum moved quickly. In a matter of moments they were both in the car, headed toward the beach at a speed Essie thought was unnecessary. The pram was probably exactly where she’d left it! No one would be out and about after the rain; the playground would probably be deserted and covered in puddles. Mia would be red-faced and angry. It would take hours to calm her down. Essie wished they were driving in the opposite direction.

Her mum misinterpreted her agitation and placed a calming hand on hers. “We’ll find her, Essie,” she said. “We will.”

Sure enough, they did find her. Mia was right where Essie had left her. But she wasn’t alone. A trio of mothers in puffer jackets surrounded her, the tallest woman holding Mia tightly. Mia will hate that, Essie thought. Sure enough, Mia was howling. Another mother looked on while half-heartedly entertaining toddlers nearby. They didn’t seem to notice as Essie and her mum got out of the car.

“There she is,” Essie’s mum cried, running over to the group. “I see her. She’s fine, Essie. She’s perfectly safe.”

“She’s ours,” Essie’s mum shouted to the women. When she was close enough, she held her hands out for Mia, catching her breath. “Whew. Thank you so much. She’s my granddaughter. My daughter accidentally left without her.”