"Talk to me, Sky."

Roger speaks softly from the other side of the room. Even though my back is to him, I can hear his hands anxiously tapping away on his thigh. I don't reply immediately, choosing instead to re-fold a stack of tiny baby pajamas.

"The nanny can do that," Roger notes with a sigh.

"I find it calming," I reply softly. Folding the last garment, I carefully place the stack inside the drawer. Finally, I turn to face Roger. He's leaning against the doorway to the nursery, his face concerned. His eyes flit between mine, and he raises a hand to reach just inside his shirt to rub his collarbone.

"Say the word, and I won't go," he says, his blue eyes boring into mine. "Just say the word."

I wish I could say the word. I've never wanted anything more. If I could, I'd throw myself in his arms, begging him to stay. Begging him not to go on tour for two-and-a-half months. Pleading with him not to leave me here alone with our two-month-old baby, Cadence. I love her with all my fucking heart, but I haven't been coping well.

But I don't do any of that.

"You've just sold out Madison Square Garden," I reply instead as I walk towards him. He opens his arms to me, enveloping me into an embrace. I nuzzle my face into the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent.

"Freddie told me that you sold out both nights in under an hour," I continue, murmuring against his skin.

"Nearly 20,000 seats each night," Roger murmurs proudly. "19,600 to be exact."

"You're number 1 in the UK and number 5 in America, and you think I'm going to tell you not to go on tour? What sort of girlfriend would that make me?"

I lean back and muster up a smile in the hopes that he'll believe that I can do this without him. But I don't know if I can. I've fallen into a deep depression ever since the birth, and, honestly, it's taking most of my energy to hide it from the world. I'm meant to go back to work next week, but my brain has turned into sleep-deprived mush.

Roger looks at me, doubtfully. "It's shit timing. You know I'd never plan it like this, right?"

"I know," I reply, and I do know. We didn't plan any of this. "It's okay, truly. Anyway, it'll be different once I'm back to work. I'll barely notice you're gone."

I offer another weak smile, praying that he'll buy it. Usually, he wouldn't; he knows me too well. But he lives for this shit. More than the other fellows, he can't get enough of the touring. He loves it. Freddie and Brian enjoy it, yeah. John tolerates it. But Roger? It's in his blood. Even if I asked him not to go, I'm not sure what good it would do. 

Especially this tour. They've poised to conquer America, and they've been holed up in rehearsals for weeks. They're at the top of the world right now, so who am I to stand in the way?

Roger is about to reply when my mum walks into the room holding Cadence.

"Mum, stop putting these huge bows in her hair!" I exclaim, reaching out to caress my daughter's light brown hair, which has just begun to curl. Cadie looks at me with a smile, something she's just figured out to do. Even though I have so many doubts about how I am as a mother, I love her to fucking pieces.

"There's my girl!" Roger says, reaching for her. He lifts her high into the air over his head, and she squeals in delight. They're smitten with each other, and I don't know how he'll stand being away from her for so long.

A horn honks from outside. I look out the window, wishing that we were still in our familiar London flat instead of out here in the country.

"Your driver is here," I say to Roger, my forehead pressed to the window. Suddenly I don't have the strength to stand upright and turn to face him. My mum says something about giving us privacy, and Cadie begins to fuss as she's carried out of the room.

After a brief pause, I hear Roger's careful footsteps padding closer just before I feel his arms sliding around my waist.

"I don't want to go," he murmurs. "I'm worried about you, Sky."

"I'll be alright," I reply with false cheerfulness that sounds hollow even to my own ears. "I'm always alright."

**

Days turn into weeks, and weeks turn into a month. I feel like I'm living in a dark hole. My soul is muted, unable to feel strong emotions. My mind is numb, so I delay going back to work. Instead, I spend my days mindlessly pushing Cadie's pram around the vast estate. My mum tries to break through to me. The nanny clearly thinks that I've lost my marbles. Roger doesn't phone often enough and, when he does, I lie my face off.

Finally, on the first morning where the sun is finally out, the doorbell rings. I lay in bed, softly singing to my daughter, who lays cooing next to me. The doorbell rings again, so I rise slowly and walk to the window. An unfamiliar car graces the driveway. Furrowing my brow, I pick up Cadie and walk down the staircase .

When I open the door, the sunlight fills my vision and creates a back-lit silhouette. I blink, not only because I'm temporarily blinded but also because it is quite an unexpected visitor.

"Veronica?" I say, surprised. For a moment, John's wife stands in the doorway, appraising me. I cringe inwardly imagining what she's seeing:  far too thin, stringy hair, and, fucking hell, when was the last time that I showered? After an awkward moment, she steps forward to envelop me in a hug.

"Good morning, Skylar," she says before walking inside purposefully. I stand by the door for a moment, wondering what's going on. Don't get me wrong, Veronica is lovely. But it's not like her to pop in unexpectedly, especially all the way out here in Surrey.

"I've brought a casserole," she says, setting a large paper bag on the console table. "I remember when Robert was first born, all I really wanted was food that I didn't have to cook myself."

I don't say anything, instead trying to work out why she's here.

"I'll just put this in..." she trails off, wandering down the corridor. After a long, confused pause, I walk into the kitchen to see Veronica putting the kettle on and setting out teacups and saucers.

"You look like you could use a cuppa," she says without looking up from her work. She pulls a package of biscuits from her shopping bag. "When's the last time you ate?"

"Well, it's been busy..." I trail off, not quite sure when it was. Cadie reaches forward and tugs my fringe, eliciting a soft tsk-tsk. Veronica finally looks up, her face softening when she sees my daughter.

"She's a looker," she says with a smile. The kettle starts to whistle, and before I know it, tea is poured, and the three of us are seated at the small table by the bay window.

While we sip our tea, Veronica looks out the window and makes breezy conversation about the estate. We make polite conversation for a good fifteen minutes before I finally ask the question.

"Why are you here? I mean, not that I don't want you to be here, shit, sorry, that came off wrong, I'm used to only talking to a baby, at the moment I can barely be counted on for a civil discourse..." I ramble on as she looks at me bemusedly.

"Roger phoned," she says, finally interrupting me. "Well, John phoned, and Roger insisted on having a chat."

I don't reply, instead playing with Cadie's curls.

"He's worried about you," Veronica continues.

"Oh, I'm fine--" I start to say, stopping as she rolls her eyes in a very matter-of-fact way.

"You're not," she replies. "Where's the nanny? Or your mum?"

"Cadie and I are fine on our own," I mutter. Veronica doesn't reply, instead giving me a look that says that we are not doing fine on our own.

"And you haven't gone back to work?"

"Lots of women take a long leave," I counter defensively.

"That's true," she says. "But you're not lots of women."

I don't reply, concentrating intensely on my tea. Finally, after way too long, I look up to see her looking at me warmly.

"How are you coping, Skylar?" She stretches her hand across the table to envelop mine.

The floodgates burst open, the tears start to fall. Somewhere during the weeping and the incoherent words, she takes the baby from me so that I can lay my head on the table and truly, properly weep.

I've gotten to the hiccupping-gasping-for-breath phase of my meltdown when I hear from the radio playing softly in the corner:

Get your party gown
Get your pigtail down
Get your heart beatin' baby

"Fuck off!" I shout, throwing the empty teacup at the radio with all my might. It bounces off the device and, miraculously, doesn't shatter.

Tie your mother down
Tie your mother down
Lock your daddy out--

Veronica walks over to the radio and switches it off; the song ends abruptly. I lift my head and stare at her, wondering if she genuinely thinks that I've gone bonkers. Oh, God, she's going to tell Rog all about this, and then he'll know, and then--

"I hate that song," she says with a smirk. "No real reason... there's nothing wrong with it. I've just... always hated it."

Cadie starts to fuss--perhaps defending Brian's song--and Veronica walks back to hand her to me. She takes a seat and pours herself another cup of tea.

"It's just..." I trail off, collecting my thoughts. "It's just that every time I hear that song--or any of their songs, for that matter--I'm just reminded that for three fucking hours every night, Roger can be a rock god and forget all about us."

"It's not fair," Veronica sympathizes.

"Six hours if you count the afterparties," I continue heatedly.

"Don't get me started on the afterparties," Veronica agrees. "John rang at half-four the other night, completely trollied. The phone woke Robert up, and it took forever to get him back to sleep. I wanted to murder John, I really did."

"How do you cope with him being away?" I finally ask.

"It's a struggle every time," she replies honestly. "Every single goddamn tour, I think it's going to break me."

"But it doesn't?"

"It doesn't," she affirms. "And as Cadie gets a bit older, it'll get easier. Plus, I have my childminder and my mum to help--" she pauses and looks at me pointedly.

"Skylar, you need to call in the reserves. Clearly, it hasn't been..." she trails off whilst thinking of a kind term to use for my unshowered, shitshow of a self. "...easy for you. Call your mum. Hire a new nanny."

"We still have a nanny," I reply glumly. "I pay her not to show up, and I lie to Roger about it. He thinks that she and my mum are here."

"He knows the truth," Veronica says.

"He does?" Oh, shit.

"Your mum called him."

That traitor, I inwardly fume before realizing that I'd do the same thing in her position.

"Oh," I reply weakly.

"You're not fooling anyone, Skylar," Veronica says matter-of-factly. "You've had a rough go of it. And that's okay. The first few months are tough for anyone, and you've been doing it on your own. This is more than just the baby blues--"

"I--"

"We're going to get through this, you and I. It's true that we're very different people, but I've been where you are, and there's a path forward. First, you're telling your nanny to come back tomorrow--"

"But--"

"--And you're going back to work next week."

"Well--"

"Skylar, my husband is known for being the peacekeeper in Queen. I don't have that reputation. Do I look like someone who will take no for an answer?"

I look up at her face, which, honestly, is a little intimidating at the moment.

"No," I mutter.

Veronica stands, brushing biscuit crumbs off her skirt. "Well, then. Let's get to it."