Tell me if you wake in the middle of the night feeling like there’s a big, gaping hole in your life that you know will never be filled.” I push him harder as my voice cracks. As my tears threaten. “Talk to me about how you wonder if we’d just done something differently, we’d have a baby today. Maybe if I’d focussed more on being less stressed, we’d have a baby or maybe if—”
“Stop.” It’s one word, and it’s spoken low. He doesn’t raise his voice, but holy hell if that one word isn’t so black it darkens the room. He works his jaw and I swear I see the first fracture hit his heart. “You did nothing wrong. Fucking nothing. I won’t sit here and listen to you say that. And as for how I feel in here”—he pounds his chest—“I feel like I’ve scraped my soul from the inside fucking out and given it over ten times. Watching you go through every cycle was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do in life, and then watching you lose our child, knowing there would be no more chances for another, it fucking killed me. I don’t talk about it, because you’re right: there’s not one fucking word that comes close to describing how it feels.”
Tears stream down my face as I squeeze his hand.
My strong man.
My broken man.
We both turn silent after that, and after allowing the silence for a while, Claire says, “Winter, I know you don’t want to listen to Birdie lay blame at her own feet, but I think it’s important for her to be able to unpack her feelings over that. Guilt not dealt with will only fester.”
Winter contemplates that deeply before nodding. “Okay.”
“Thank you,” Claire says and then looks at me. “Tell me about the guilt you feel, Birdie.”
My tears turn into sobs at her question, and I realise just how much guilt I feel. Winter’s arm comes around me and he holds me while I open up. “I was anxious for seven straight years. I worried about the smallest things. About every damn thing. I blew stuff way out of proportion and refused to have hope some days. It all felt too hard and too much for me to cope with. I feel like all of that stress must have surely contributed to my inability to fall pregnant and also to the miscarriages I had.” I take a deep breath. “I feel guilty that I took away Winter’s chances at becoming a father”—I ignore the soft curse word he drops—“and while deep down I know he doesn’t feel that way, I can’t help how I feel over it.”
“Have you heard of Acceptance and Commitment Therapy, Birdie?” Claire asks as she offers me a tissue.
I take the tissue and wipe my tears. “No.”
“It’s a therapy where you’ll learn to accept what is out of your personal control, and commit to action that improves your life. It’s a mindfulness-based therapy that I think will be helpful to you.”
“Okay.”
She smiles and I feel her warmth wash over me. She then begins working her magic, and by the time our first session is over, I fully believe we’ve found the person to help guide us back to each other. To guide us back to ourselves.
Winter pays the bill and then takes my hand to walk me out to the car. When we reach my door, he moves into me, backing me up against it. His hands come to my face and he slides them into my hair. He watches me for a few moments before bending his face to mine and kissing me. Slow and deep, I feel every ounce of his love in this kiss. When he finishes, he rests his forehead against mine and says, “I love you, angel, and I will keep coming here with you for as long as it takes us to move through this.”
My soul takes the breath she’s been refusing to take for a long time. The breath I didn’t even know I was missing.
I grip his shirt. “Thank you.”
He lifts his head and looks at me. Torment clouds his eyes. “I miss Max.”
My heart stops beating for a moment; I’m sure of it. This is the first time since just after Max died that Winter has said that to me. “Me too.”
He doesn’t say anything else before he opens my door and helps me into the car. He doesn’t need to, though; those three words are enough.