not wanting to face him, not wanting him to see me like this; shattered, broken.
She stands up. “I’ll call him now, catch him before he goes off to work.”
Gabe holds me tight. “I’m so sorry, Ella,” he says, his voice soft. I bury my face in the soft worn leather of his jacket. I feel like a fragile wounded bird in his large arms. Gwen leaves us and goes upstairs.
I’m shocked he’s here. I don’t deserve him. I push him away. “Why are you here, Gabe?” I ask him. “This is not your problem. I don’t deserve your help.”
He tries to pull me back in, but I push him away again. “I can handle this myself,” I tell him. “You don’t need to be here.”
He pulls me in his strong arms and I finally relent. “Yes, I do,” he says, his soft words buried in my hair. He strokes my back, just as he did a long time ago, the first time I miscarried. And just like the first time, he doesn’t say a word, he simply holds me. My sobs are muffled against his chest. I want to tell him I’m sorry for everything I’ve put him through.
“I deserve this. This was never right.”
“Don’t say that,” he whispers. “You don’t know yet. Your baby could be fine.”
I shake my head. “He’s not.”
“He? It’s a boy?”
I nod, looking up at him. His familiar eyes bring me peace. Being in his arms, looking at his eyes, it’s like being home. He makes me feel warm, cared for, and safe. “Can you bring me to the hospital? I’m ready now.”
When we arrive at the emergency room, it’s pure chaos. We talk to a lady at the desk who seems completely overwhelmed. She scowls, her beady eyes peering at us as she takes our information. We explain the situation: we are here because of cramping and bleeding in the second trimester of pregnancy. I hope for some kindness, some iota of compassion, but there is none. Her thin-lipped scowl, long chin and large downturned nose make her look like a witch to me. She flips her dark hair over her shoulder as she taps away at her keyboard.
“Name of your doctor,” she asks.
I give her both Dr. Fisher’s name, and Dr. Noland’s name, my obstetrician. She scratches her chin with her blue tipped fingernail. “Okay, you’re all set. You may sit down and wait. It’ll be a little while.”
I fall into sobs as soon as I hit the chair. I can guarantee this woman has never been through this. If she had, she would have shown the slightest hint of humanity.
Gabe takes my hand in his. He’s like an angel, an angel I so easily let fly away when I should have been holding on for dear life. “I’m so sorry, Ella,” he says. “I know you probably don’t believe me. I never wanted this baby in our lives, it’s true. But I hate how this hurts you. I hate to see you like this.”
I turn from him and stand. My nose is all snotty. I am a blubbering mess. I go to the front desk and grab two tissues, not daring to look at the witch of a receptionist.
To my surprise, we are taken in fairly quickly. I’m brought to a small private room where I’m asked to change into a hospital gown. I’m then wheeled around by a myriad of faceless attendants in scrubs, left to wait for what seems like an eternity in the hall. Gabe is by my side, holding my hand as we wait for an ultrasound room. He shoots me a sweet smile once in a while. I know he’s trying to keep my mood up.
The ultrasound technician is a friendly, young freckled blonde in pink heart covered scrubs. She smiles thinly here and there as she takes ultrasounds; both external and internal. The expression on her face turns gradually more somber, like a sun setting behind the sea. The already dark room seems to gets darker. Although she doesn’t say a word, I know what she sees. She asks me again how far along I am. And she asks me about my prior ultrasound. I tell her everything was fine.
I’m brought to a small office, where I meet the doctor on call, a thin small balding man with kind eyes. His voice is soft and soothing when he tells me the pregnancy is no longer viable. The news doesn’t hit me too hard since I expected