For the first time, my guilt became something more useful than a nightly punishment.

At home Jenna was doing her own work with a counselor who understood postpartum trauma.

We didn’t compare progress.

Some weeks she had a hard day when I had an easier one, and sometimes it was the reverse.

One evening she found me sitting on the porch and asked what I’d talked about.

“Being frightened of my phone,” I said.

She sat next to me.