I want to remember every detail of that day.
I was on my way to work. We knew it could be any day now.
The previous week, I had felt something. I thought it was a contraction, so we rushed to the Vital Arc.
We were sent back. “False alarm,” they said.
This time was different.
I had barely left the cabin when I stopped walking. I felt an intense pressure, followed by an urge to push.
I called Julian.
“I think this is it.”
“Where are you?”
“I just left the cabin.”
“Go back. Wait for me there. I’ll be there soon.”
The corridor felt longer than usual.
The walk back to the cabin felt even longer.
After Julian arrived, everything started moving quickly.
The Vital Arc.
The examination.
The pain.
The epidural.
People coming in and out of the room.
My mother checking the displays.
Someone telling me when to breathe.
Then the pushing.
“Push, Kyla. Push.”
Julian stayed beside me the entire time, holding my hand and telling me I was doing great.
For some reason, I wanted to punch him.
I told him that.
He laughed.
I did not.
Then something changed.
There was movement around me. Voices became shorter. Faster.
All I could hear was my mother.
I knew that tone.
Something was wrong.
For a moment, she was not my mother anymore. She was Dr. Soria.
Then I heard what was happening.
The umbilical cord was wrapped around Alex’s neck.
The same thing that had kept him alive, the thing that had connected us for months, was now wrapped around his neck.
I remember asking if he was okay.
No one answered me.
For a few seconds, there was no sound.
Maybe it was only a second.
Then Alex cried.
The first thing I ever heard from my son was a cry.
“He’s breathing,” my mother said. “Everything is all right.”
Her voice had changed again.
She was no longer Dr. Soria.
She was his grandmother.
I want to remember when they brought him to me.
The first time I saw his face.
His little hands.
How warm he felt against me.
I remember looking at Julian.
He was crying.
I think I was too.
My father arrived afterward.
He stood beside the bed and stared at Alex for a long time without saying anything.
Dad always has something to say.
That day he did not.
He touched Alex’s hand with one finger.
Alex grabbed it.
My father cried.
I had never seen him cry before.
Maybe that is why I remember it so clearly.
Everyone cried that day.
My mother told me once that people are built differently from systems.
We cry. We laugh. We hope. We grieve.
We are living stories.
I think I understand what she meant now.
In one day, I went through all of those emotions.
We all did.
It was the happiest day of my life.
But for some reason, I also felt sad.
Empty.
I am still trying to understand those other feelings.
Alex has been with us for only a few weeks, and he already has different cries.
There is the hungry one.
There is the angry one when we change him.
There is the tired one, where he seems offended that sleep exists.
Sometimes he cries and neither Julian nor I can figure out why.
Those are the hardest.
I pick him up. I walk around the cabin. I feed him.
And sometimes he keeps crying anyway.
I have cried with him more than once.
That part is harder to write about.
I thought having Alex would make me happy.
It does.
I love him more than I knew I could love someone.
Sometimes I look at him while he sleeps and cannot understand how he was inside me only a few weeks ago.
But I am not happy all the time.
Some mornings I wake up and do not want to get out of bed.
Sometimes Julian takes Alex and I feel relieved.
Then I feel guilty for feeling relieved.
Sometimes Alex cries and something inside me becomes angry before I can stop it.
Not angry at him.
Just angry.
Then I cry because I was angry.
My mother says the changes after pregnancy affect people differently.
Dr. Navarro called it postpartum depression.
I do not like the name.
It sounds like something simple enough to put into a medical record.
A diagnosis.
A few words.
Something that can be recorded and filed away.
“Logminter, save this to my diary.”
LOG ENTRY
Action type: Log archival.
Integrity check: Validated. Data saved by authorized user.
Authorized user: Anwar Cloutier Soria, Kyla. Created at: 2788.123.1428.
“Logminter, how many entries have I recorded about the day Alex was born?” Kyla said.
> You have recorded 27 entries referencing events that occurred on 2788.052.
“Twenty-seven?”
Kyla looked back at the display.
“I feel like every time I remember that day, something changes.”
> Archived entries remain unchanged after validation.
“That’s not what I mean.”
Logminter paused.
> Human recollection may vary between retrieval events. Recalling the past can change how an event is remembered in the future.
Kyla read the response again.
“So every time I remember that day, my memory can change?”
> Correct. Human memory is reconstructive. It is an active process of rebuilding past experiences rather than playing back an exact recording.
“But you remember every version exactly the way it was recorded.”
> Archived records preserve the information provided at the time of recording until they are deleted or destroyed.
Kyla looked toward Alex.
He had just woken up. He opened his eyes, looked at her, and started to cry.
Kyla smiled and changed her voice without thinking, the way she always did when talking to him.
“Oh, are you hungry? Is that what it is?”
She stood and picked him up.
“Come here, my baby. Let’s get you fed.”
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Kyla sat near the end of the row in the medical waiting area.
Alex was asleep against her chest.
She had learned that moving too quickly after he fell asleep was a mistake, so she stayed still.
Behind her, a wall display cycled through reminders about nutrition, hydration, and sleep.
The door from the corridor opened.
Alyka ran inside.
“Alyka,” Layna called after her. “Slow down.”
Alyka stopped when she saw Kyla.
“Kai-yah!”
Layna followed a few steps behind.
“Hi,” Kyla said.
Layna smiled when she saw Alex.
“Oh, look at him.”
“He finally fell asleep.”
Alyka moved closer.
“Baby.”
“Yes,” Kyla said. “His name is Alex.”
Alyka leaned forward to look at him.
Kyla smiled.
“She’s so big now.”
Layna sat beside her.
“She’s always been precocious. She talked early. Walked early.”
Kyla looked at Alyka.
“She looks like she’s already two.”
“Not yet,” Layna said. “We still have a little while.”
Alyka climbed onto the chair beside her mother.
“Is Alyka feeling well?” Kyla asked.
“Just routine vaccinations.”
Alyka immediately shook her head.
“No.”
Layna laughed.
“She knows what that word means now.”
Kyla smiled.
“Poor thing.”
“She’ll be fine. She gets more upset about having to sit still than about the injection.”
Alex moved against Kyla’s chest.
His face tightened.
“Shh… shh… it’s okay,” Kyla whispered.
He opened his eyes and started to cry.
Alyka looked at him.
“Baby cry.”
Kyla adjusted Alex against her shoulder.
Layna watched her for a moment.
“You look tired.”
Kyla looked at her.
“They say it is postpartum depression.”
Layna nodded slowly.
“I had it too.”
Kyla was surprised.
“You did?”
“After Alyka was born.”
Layna rested one hand on her daughter’s knee.
“People kept asking how she was doing. If she was eating. If she was sleeping.”
She looked back at Kyla.
“Nobody asked how I was doing.”
Kyla understood.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Alyka leaned against Layna.
Layna put an arm around her.
“It gets better,” she said.
Kyla looked at her.
“The depression?”
Layna nodded.
“It does.”
A door opened.
“Kyla Anwar?”
Dr. Navarro stood at the entrance to the examination corridor.
Kyla stood carefully, supporting Alex with one arm.
Layna reached out to steady her as she stood.
“Are you going back to work soon?” she asked.
“In two weeks.”
“Ready?”
Kyla looked at Alex.
“I don’t know.”
Layna smiled.
“It’ll be alright.”
Kyla smiled back.
“See you later.”
“See you.”
Kyla followed Dr. Navarro into the examination corridor.
Alex kept crying.
Thanks for reading Kyla’s Diary, a novel from the Theogenic Universe. New chapters will be published weekly. Subscribe to continue the journey aboard Helios.