I began feeling dizzy and lightheaded. “I-I think I n-need to lie d-down.”
“Mrs. Townsend? Deborah? She’s losing too much blood.”
Those were the last words I remembered before passing out.
A few hours later, I woke up in the hospital room I’d been rolled out of for surgery. Robert’s back was to me.
“H-hey,” I called in a strained voice due to my extremely dry throat.
He turned from the window, cradling a baby in his arms, but there were tears in his eyes. My entire my chest caved in as the weight of what those tears meant settled down around me.
I began shaking my head. “No, no, no,” I repeated over and over as he slowly approached the bed.
“Travis … he didn’t make it. He died.” His voice was so strangled.
I couldn’t form any words, just tears; grief and sorrow filled the room.
“Deb …”
I began shaking my head even more. Robert only called me Deb when he had bad news, but what could be worse than losing our child?
“There was too much bleeding. They had to perform a hysterectomy to save your life.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Then
Robert
Grief is supposed to get better with time. At least, that’s what everyone keeps fucking saying. But they’re all fucking liars. It’s been six months. Six months since my baby boy died on what should’ve been the first day of his life. Days after bringing our youngest son, Tyler, home from the hospital, we had to bury his twin, Travis.
How the fuck is that supposed to be fair?
I get it. Life isn’t fair. No one ever said it was going to be, blah, blah, fucking, blah! But I am supposed to havefoursons. Fours boys who would carry on the Townsend legacy in their own right. Yes, I was grateful for the three boys I had, and the fact that I still had my wife with me. But she’d fallen into a deep depression after we lost Travis and had her entire womb removed. The fact that she couldn’t carry anymore children, even if she wanted, hit her hard. For the last six months it’d felt like we were just keeping our heads above water.
Thankfully, Deborah had relented and let me hire additional help with the children and to clean our home. Although she’d taken a leave of absence from her job, there were days she could barely get out of bed.
Sighing, I turned from the window where I could see the sun was setting. I looked across the room toward Deborah who was just sitting on the side of the bed, Tyler next to her in his crib. My chest ached.
Deborah had even the most difficult time picking Tyler up some days. Every time she looked at him it was as if she saw the baby we lost.
“Princess,” I said low, moving by her side, and pushing a few strands of her brown locks over her shoulders. “They will be here soon. We should finish getting dressed.”
Deborah’s big, blue eyes, full of sadness, peered up at me, blinking, as if trying to remember what I was referring to.
“Oh,” she suddenly said. “Aaron’s birthday.” A smile touched her lips. “We’ve barely seen him since …” She trailed off, her gaze drifting toward Tyler’s crib.
I swallowed, feeling guilty. My relationship with my brother had always been strained, but we tried to treat Aaron like he was one of our own, although Jason had made that difficult over the years. Tonight was his eighth birthday, and Deb and I had decided to host a birthday dinner for him tonight at our home. Jason, as usual, had been reluctant, but eventually agreed.
“You go and finish getting dressed. I’ll take care of Tyler,” I stated as he began waking in his crib.
Rising, Deborah nodded. I watched as she inhaled and pasted on a happy expression. She, too, wanted to make this evening special for Aaron. We didn’t want the night overshadowed by our grief.
“Hey, baby boy,” I murmured as I plucked Tyler from his crib. I ran my hand through his auburn hair, somewhat still in awe at the red color. Each one of my sons had their own distinctive looks, but they’d all inherited the signature Townsend freckles. “Didn’t feel like sleeping, huh?” Tyler was a terrible sleeper. Sometimes I thought he missed his twin almost more than we did, causing him to remain awake as if searching for him.
I shook my head, pushing those silly thoughts from my mind.
Deborah emerged from her walk-in closet, dressed in a pair of dark jeans, a purple top, and with her hair pulled back in a chignon bun. She’d put on a light coating of makeup that made her eyes pop, and for the first time in a long time she was wearing a genuine smile.
