I’m in pain. A lot of pain. Deep, below; a wrenching pain. I slip the covers off and swivel my feet around the bed. The carpet is scratchy on the soles of my feet as I make my way to the bathroom. The bright light blinds me when I flick on the switch. I look terrible; dark circles frame my eyes, my hair is plastered against my forehead. The pain is still there. And I know something’s not right. But I don’t want to see. I reach into the cabinet and grab a bottle of Ibuprofen. I’ve tried not to take any kind of medication during this pregnancy, but right now, I just don’t care.
I wince as I hike up my nightgown and pull down my underwear, not wanting to look. My heart crumbles, drops like a heavy weight to the bottom of my stomach when I see the dark red stain. I crash to the linoleum floor and curl up in a fetal position and I fall into a fit of sobs. I could tell myself this isn’t happening — it’s just a little spotting, it can be common.
But deep inside, I know the truth. I don’t bother lying to myself. It feels like life has stripped me not only of this baby, but of my entire insides. It has held me up high to the light only to plunge me into darkness. It has left me in shatters, and I have no idea how I’ll manage to pick up the pieces. This hurts just as much as the first time I miscarried, when I lost the child Gabe and I so desperately wanted. I hadn’t realized how much this child meant to me. But now I know. I’ve always wanted another child. This child was wanted…was loved.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
My beautiful sweet angel.
It’s 4:22 AM when I call Gwen.
“Hello,” she mumbles. I’ve stopped crying but as soon as I hear her voice, I start sobbing again. “Gwen,” I say, my voice trembling. “I…I need you.”
“Mirella,” she says. Her voice is gentle when she asks, “What happened?”
“I think…I’m losing…the baby,” I tell her, the words stringed together by jagged breaths.
“Oh, Mirella,” she says. The emotion in her voice brings on more tears. “I’ll be right there.”
When she gets to me, she pulls me in her arms and holds me. I don’t want to let go. I don’t want her to say anything, to tell me we should go to the hospital, because I know that’s what she’ll say next. And I know it will be official when we get there. They’ll tell me Oliver is gone. I don’t want to go, but I know I need to.
Almost as if she can read my thoughts, she doesn’t mention doctors, emergency rooms or even Gabe or Weston.
“Come with me,” she says. “I’ll make you tea.”
I sit down at the kitchen table, wiping the tears with the heel of my hand. “Thank you.”
“Can I make you something to eat?”
“No,” I puff out. “I couldn’t eat a thing.”
We sit for a while and she lets me talk, listening quietly. I tell her how I’d imagined him, both as a small child and as a beautiful young man. I tell her about the nursery Weston had prepared; the soft greens and blues, the cute mobile, the starfish in the window and the giant stuffed green eel.
She wraps her hands around her delicate porcelain tea cup. “It looks like Weston was planning on turning him into a little fisherman,” she says with a hint of a smile.
“Of course, I never planned on living there. I hadn’t told Weston yet. But it doesn’t matter now. Everything has changed.”
“Would you like me to call Weston?” she offers. “Let him know what’s going on.”
I shake my head. “No, he’s actually in California on business. He could never make his way to me. I’ll get in touch when…”
When this is all over.
She stares at me for a beat or two, not saying a word. “We should really get you to a hospital,” she finally says, the words I’ve been dreading.
She winces as she adds, “I thought I’d call Gabe.”
I shake my head. “No, no, no. He doesn’t want to deal with this. I told you he told me this was my mess.”
She takes my hand in hers. “He’s your husband, Mirella. Of course, he’ll be here for you. And besides, you need someone to look after the girls.”