She Sees Mountains and Rivers, Not the Past

After our son was born, I was diagnosed with depression.

Every single day, Ada guarded against my killing myself.

The piano at home gathered dust. The nursery got a soundproof door.

The rooms were papered over with encouraging notes.

No matter how the baby cried,

Ada always went to me first, to the falling-apart me.

"Don't be scared. I'll be right here while you get better, one step at a time."

Then, as our son's first-birthday party drew near, Ada was busy going to taste the menu.

To set my mind at ease, she sorted out my pills for me as usual.

I had just peeled off the sticky note on the bottle that read "You've got this,"

when new words surfaced on the paper.

My whole life has been ruined in your hands, Ada Sanchez.

The "Be happy every day" on the dinner plate became:

Let me go. Why won't you just die?

The "I'm here for you" on the fridge became:

Claude Henson's back in the country. When he holds me, I keep wondering why he isn't my husband.

And last, the "Stay with the treatment" on the medicine box became:

I don't regret switching your pills for him.

The tears on my face had already gone cold.

I stumbled downstairs

and caught a ride to the banquet hall.

The two of them, tasting the dishes so close together, froze in an instant.

I stood and looked straight at them.

"Buddy, you're back in the country? How come you didn't tell me ahead of time?"

Claude's hand went slack, and his chopsticks clattered to the floor.

Ada bent down on reflex to pick them up, and only halfway there did she catch how wrong it looked.

She straightened without a trace of it showing.

"Wall, what are you doing here?"

Claude finally came to, like waking from a dream, and gave a couple of laughs.

"Yeah, if I'd known you were coming, I wouldn't have rushed straight over the second I got off the plane to help out. Didn't even have a chance to shoot you a message."

"You know Ada, she felt bad for you and wanted you resting at home, so she dragged me over to work for free."

"Is that so?" I looked at the two of them, and at the table full of dishes. "Yesterday you posted on your feed that you were flying to L.A. today."

One of them told me in advance he was flying to L.A. for work,

the other thoughtfully reported she'd be tasting the menu alone today.

All lies.

Why could they be so sure I'd never find out?

A staff member came out carrying a big platter of fish,

saw me, and smiled without thinking.

"You must be a good friend of Miss Sanchez and her husband. Miss Sanchez was just worrying about the menu tasting, so it's perfect that you're here."

"If you can't say the right thing, don't say anything!"

Ada, who always led with a smile for everyone, went completely dark in the face.

She told the staff member to set the plate down and get out, fast.

Then she turned her head to check my expression.

She was afraid I'd have an episode, afraid I'd make a scene at the venue.

But the arm she'd half-raised on reflex in front of Claude told me

she was more afraid I'd hurt her.

Because of the depression, I'd quit my job and hadn't left the house in a whole year.

Ada handled everything in my place.

Many late nights I spent crying,

thinking I was no longer the Wallace Ellison who made her proud.

Yet the one who always encouraged me was still her.

She said I was the person she loved most, so even at our son's first-birthday party, it was fine if I wasn't there.

It was all for the sake of my health.

I picked up the run-of-show sheet on the table.

At the very top was a passage for the child's mother to speak.

The air around me felt wrung dry.

"Thank you to my husband, standing beside me right now. Without you, there would be no Ada Sanchez as I am today, and no healthy baby today either. Thank you for giving me the love I once wanted most."

I read it out, word by word.

By the end, my cheeks felt itchy.

I wiped at them without thinking. It was tears.

The palm cupping the tears was shaking, and my breath wouldn't come easily.

Ada took the run-of-show sheet away.

"Wall, breathe deep. Calm down first"

The dishes on the table were the ones Claude loved to eat.

The flowers on the floor were his favorite, Scottish roses.

While I was swallowing antidepressants, losing hair by the fistful,

wanting to jump the moment I saw the balcony,

Claude had settled himself right beside Ada, like it was the natural thing.

"Wallace, you've really got it wrong."

Claude stepped forward, meaning to take my hand.

I yanked it away hard and swung a fist back at him.

"Crack!"

But that fist didn't land on his face.

Half of Ada's face had gone red.

"Oh! Are you okay?"

Claude panicked at once, pulling out a handkerchief to press against her cheek.

I noticed the handkerchief. It was Ada's.

Claude never even carried tissues when he went out, let alone a handkerchief.

I recognized it because it had started as a sample from a collaboration between my company and a mill up in Massachusetts. Ada and I had gotten one each.

During the stretch when my depression triggered acid reflux, she'd wiped my tears with that same handkerchief.

"Don't be scared, Wall. I'll always be with you."

Cold shook through my whole body, and then, out of nowhere, I laughed.

Seeing it, everyone around stepped back, not daring to come near.

I picked up a potted plant beside me and hurled it at their feet.

Ada shrank back, pulling Claude with her.

I stamped down on the pink bouquets, one after another, until the pulp ran out of them.

Every bunch of flowers hid a little note. I love you.

Ada would stay by me without conditions, dote on me.

But she rarely said she loved me. She was always too shy for it.

Only on the day we said our vows, red all the way to her neck, when I took her hand and coaxed her, did she say it once.

And on the day my illness drove me out onto the balcony, she'd come running in, her face wet with tears.

"Wallace, I love you. Please don't go, all right?"

"The baby, anyone else, none of them matter as much as you. All I want is you."

So after I was discharged, she was the first to notice everything that was wrong with me.

Her mother said I was sick, told her to divorce me.

Ada waited for me to wake, then said it plainly, without shame.

"He's not a madman. I will never divorce him, not in this life."

I'd always thought that was the finest love she had to give, even if it went unspoken.

"Are you done making a scene?"

But right now, Ada's eyes held nothing but deep disappointment and exhaustion.

She looked at me standing in the middle of the wreckage, my face streaked with tears and fright.

The way you'd look at an actual madman.

All at once it all felt pointless, and there was no one behind me now, holding me steady, telling me to be careful, not to hurt myself.

Claude finally found his opening.

"You do you want to take your medicine first?"

"Or maybe I should just go. I, I know I'm in the way here."

By the end of it his eyes had gone glassy, his voice catching.

Ada gripped his wrist, the concern in her eyes almost spilling over.

Right then the nanny came over, holding the crying baby.

"Miss Sanchez, the baby's crying again!"

On instinct I reached out to take him, but Ada pushed me away.

"Go take your medicine first."

The baby went to Claude, and the two of them, one rocking him gently, one wiping his tears, looked like nothing so much as a well-matched husband and wife.

And I was the outsider.

For no reason I could name, I felt a shameful, cowardly urge to run.

As if the whole world were watching me, accusing me of being an unfit father.

Before long the baby really did stop crying.

He blew bubbles, and even Claude laughed.

"Thank you, baby. Are you cheering up Claude's baby?"

The words were barely out before Claude caught himself, glancing up at me, wary.

"I'm sorry, Wall, I didn't mean anything by that"

"You don't have to apologize."

The smile faded from Ada's eyes, and she gave me another of those weary looks.

"You'd make a better father than some people."

I finally drew back the hand I'd reached out for my son.

A year ago Ada struggled twelve hours on the operating table, and I'd stayed right there in the delivery room, watching the blood pour out.

Even when the sight of it made me faint, I never left her side.

And in the end, Claude, a man who had nothing to do with any of it, was somehow the better fit.

I walked to the front door alongside Claude and the baby in his arms.

Outside, cold rain drifted down.

Ada's car was parked out front, and Claude climbed into the passenger seat with the baby.

"Catch a ride home. I've got the baby's checkup booked."

Ada dropped that line and drove off.

She didn't see Claude smile at me. She didn't see that I had no umbrella either.

I looked down at the ride app on my phone. The nearest driver was fifty minutes out.

I canceled the request and stepped out into the rain.

By the time I got home I was soaked through, but I couldn't summon the will to dry off.

On my phone, Claude had posted to his feed.

Just a few plain words. Taking the baby for a checkup.

He'd taken a photo of Ada from behind.

The first like was from Ada's younger sister, the second from my mother-in-law.

The sister said the baby was cute, then asked.

"Have you blocked Wallace yet? Don't let him see this. If he finds out you never went abroad last year, he'll definitely lose it."

Sure enough, the next second the post was gone.

I stared at the black screen, at the reflection of a man with lips gone bloodless, and biting down on that lip, I twisted the handle of the study door.

Ada's laptop stayed synced to her phone messages year-round.

I'd never had the habit of going through her messages before,

and after the depression diagnosis I had even less interest in things like that.

I sat at the desk

and scrolled slowly through her chat history.

Last year, Claude told me he was going abroad for a research fellowship.

But the fellowship was a lie,

and all those photos of foreign scenery on his feed were fake too.

The year I spent depressed,

he spent that whole year with Ada.

At first they were just online friends.

Ada would ask him what I liked, what I couldn't stand,

and share my treatment progress.

Later their conversations drifted, and I stopped appearing in them.

Literature, travel, movies, they talked about anything.

And when Claude asked about me,

Ada usually said she was tired, worn out.

I finally understood that Ada's talent wasn't limited to her work.

Her acting was seamless.

The day she complained to Claude about being the most exhausted,

was my birthday.

Ada had run around getting the food ready,

and because I was no good at settling the baby,

I made him cry, so she rushed back out of the kitchen to soothe him.

Watching her hold our son in her apron,

I said,

Ada, I'm sorry

I fought to hold it in, but I was still shaking all over, crying.

I was failing them. I wasn't a good husband or father.

After the depression, I'd become someone even I didn't recognize.

Ada calmed the baby, then pulled me into her arms too.

She wiped my tears.

Don't say sorry. I'm your wife. This is what I'm supposed to do.

I gave a soft laugh, my tears dripping onto the desk pad.

Scrolling further, I finally understood what that post earlier meant.

Ada's younger sister and my mother-in-law had met Claude long ago.

They'd all had meals together,

and now and then Ada would bring the baby along too.

Last month,

Claude posted a photo of the two of them from her phone.

Testing her, he asked,

That day your mom even said, if only I were her son-in-law.

Wallace has had this illness a whole year now. Whether he takes his meds or not doesn't matter anymore. Mostly, I just don't want him holding you back.

That was the reason Ada switched my medication.

I shut the laptop, and I made a decision.

That night, I started running a high fever.

Burning, half out of my head, I suddenly heard a baby crying.

Every hair on my body stood on end. I braced myself and sat up,

only to realize I was sleeping in the guest room.

The door was locked from outside, the floor-to-ceiling window lit now and then by lightning.

Ada, Ada, is that the baby crying out there?

The hardest thing to get used to this past year had been the baby's crying.

Every time I heard him cry, I'd think of Ada's agony the day she gave birth,

of her gripping my hand and screaming that it hurt,

and then delivering our son in all that blood.

Ada had always known this,

so at night she watched carefully over whether the baby would cry.

I got no answer,

but the crying only grew louder.

By the time I stopped pounding on the door, my hand was swollen and bruised,

and the fever left me weaker still, my strength draining away.

Outside the door came Claude's laugh.

See? The desensitization therapy is working. Looks like it won't be long before Wall's back to normal.

Ada's voice carried a smile too.

Thank you.

Then she said to me, through the door,

Wall, that crying is a recording Claude and I made ahead of time. It's all to help your treatment. Your illness hasn't gotten better this whole year. Maybe I've just been too soft-hearted.

It'll be uncomfortable at first, but you'll adjust soon. Claude and I are both here with you.

As she spoke, she let Claude turn up the recorded crying.

Only then did I realize a hidden speaker had been installed in the guest room,

that every door and window in the house had soundproofing,

that from outside the door you couldn't hear how loud it was at all,

and the neighbors had no idea whatsoever.

I clamped my hands over my ears and collapsed on the floor, convulsing.

The door opened. Ada saw me on the floor and instinctively stepped forward,

only to be pulled back by Claude.

Ada, don't rush. Wall needs time to adjust. Let's go out and give him some space first.

He had Ada leave the room first.

Claude looked down at me, and suddenly he smiled.

I struggled to open my eyes, and then everything went black.

When I opened my eyes, the fluid draining into my body had left one whole side of me cold and numb.

I turned my head slightly and saw Claude sitting right beside Ada.

She hadn't worn a relaxed expression like that in front of me in a long time.

Claude speared a piece of fruit and lifted it to her lips.

"You're always taking care of him. Let me take care of you."

Ada opened her mouth and bit down,

the motion smooth and practiced, as if they'd done it a thousand times.

The woman in the next bed laughed behind her hand.

"You two lovebirds are really something."

I spoke, my voice hoarse.

"Wife."

The woman let out a little "oh" and turned away.

The smiles on Ada's and Claude's faces froze too.

Ada came over and pressed a hand to my forehead.

"You have a fever. Why didn't you tell me?"

I didn't answer, but inside I was thinking:

when he helped me to the guest room, could he really not feel how wrong my body temperature was?

The Ada I used to know was always so careful.

If the water was off by even a few degrees, she'd notice.

Claude leaned in and bent down to tuck the blanket around me.

The diamond necklace slid out from under his shirt,

glinting with a soft, wet shine.

"Ada has always cared about you, Wall. She and I are just good friends, and everything I did was to help you get better faster."

I stared at that string of diamonds

and asked Ada,

"You took the necklace my mother gave me and gave it to him behind my back?"

Ada couldn't help frowning.

"Don't put it in such an ugly way. Claude has done so much for you. It's just a necklace."

Right. What was one necklace my mother gave me,

when I'd already handed him my wife.

But I wasn't willing to let it go either.

"Take it off. Give it back to me."

Claude's eyes reddened.

He'd barely gotten the necklace off

when the chain snapped, and the diamonds rained down.

Claude kept apologizing.

Ada only gave them a light glance,

stopped me as I moved to get out of bed,

and neither of them made any move to pick them up.

Ada's phone rang. She answered it

and walked out of the room with Claude.

A few hours later, Ada sent me a message.

"My mom just told me the baby isn't feeling well. Come see him once you're feeling better."

But when I got there, it wasn't the scene I'd pictured.

The lights were bright.

My mother-in-law and Ada's younger sister sat on one side,

Ada, Claude, and the child in the high chair on the other.

Any outsider walking by would have taken it for a family dinner.

And I was the outsider who didn't know how to read the room.

My mother-in-law gave a cold snort.

"The madman shows up uninvited."

Ada's younger sister served her mother some food and cut in.

"Exactly. If Claude were my brother-in-law instead, I wouldn't be this embarrassed all the time."

"When people ask, I can't even bring myself to say my brother-in-law is a mental case who screams and raves every day."

Ada shot her sister a look

and told me to come sit.

"I didn't invite you because I figured you didn't like crowds."

I didn't go over.

"The baby's not sick?"

Claude, busy fussing over the child, turned his head at that.

"The baby's perfectly fine, don't go cursing him. Wall, it looks like you haven't taken your meds today. Maybe you should just go home first."

My mother-in-law's face went dark in an instant. She slammed the table.

"Wallace, you've been married to Ada for a year, and the Sanchez family hasn't gotten a single thing out of it. And now you come here to curse my grandson? I'm throwing you out today, and I'd like to see who dares stop me!"

In the past, hearing sounds this jarring would have left me struggling for breath.

But right now, I stood there steady.

"Claude, playing nanny for my son and warming the bed for my wife, does it feel good?"

Claude's eyes went red.

Ada put down her chopsticks, her brow tight.

"Wallace, you really haven't been in your right mind these past few days. Claude has done so much for our family, and you smear all of it with one sentence!"

"Sis, I told you a long time ago, you spoil him too much." Ada's younger sister crossed her arms and sneered.

"Depression, what depression, I've never even heard of it. He's just being difficult, wanting the whole world to coddle him and give in to him!"

"Since everyone's here today, the two of you get divorced, and you marry Claude!"

"Shut up!" Ada snapped.

Claude finally stood, the same familiar act.

"Don't argue, all of you. I'll go first, you eat"

"You don't need to go."

I stepped closer, one step at a time,

looking at the hate in the younger sister's eyes, my mother-in-law shaking with rage,

and Ada's arm moving instinctively to shield Claude.

My hand closed around the tablecloth.

"Since you want to eat, let me treat you."