I keep working.
I keep throwing up.
I keep surviving.
But the missing doesn’t get easier. It just settles in deeper, like something I’ll carry the rest of my life right alongside them.
“Babies are doing great, Olive,” my OB/GYN says, her voice warm and reassuring as she turns from the ultrasound monitor. “Everything is right on track.”
I nod, blinking at the screen. Two strong little heartbeats. Two tiny profiles. They’re real. They’re mine.
I rub my slightly rounded stomach, feeling the stretch of new life beneath my palm.
“That’s good,” I whisper, a faint smile tugging at my lips.
The doctor studies me for a moment, her tone gentling. “Mood still down?”
I nod, unable to speak around the lump in my throat. My eyes sting with tears, and before I can stop them, they spill over.
She hands me a tissue, not pressing, just there.
“It’s normal,” she says softly. “Hormones, grief, stress. Your body’s doing something incredible, but it’s okay if your heart hasn’t caught up yet.”
I look away, wiping my cheeks. “I thought I’d feel better, knowing they’re okay. But I just…” I swallow. “I just wish he was here. Or at least that he cared enough to ask.”
She nods, not with pity but with understanding.
“Sometimes the people we want beside us the most aren’t capable of being what we need. And that says more about them than it does about you.”
I nod again, clutching the tissue.
But deep down, I still wonder what it says about me that I’m doing this alone. That I didn’t fight harder.
I leave the office with another appointment card and two new black-and-white photos of the twins. They’re clearer now. Tiny spines, curled fists, perfect little profiles frozen in time. I tuckthem carefully into the scrapbook I’ve started for them. Every appointment gets a new page.
Next time, I’ll find out the gender. I already know, though. I press a hand to my belly as I walk to the car, my mouth tugging into a smile. Girls. I can feel it. There’s a pull in me that’s intuitive, maternal and certain. I’ve never been surer of anything.
Just as I’m climbing into the driver’s seat, my phone rings. Phern’s name flashes across the screen, and a familiar rush of dread and hope fills my chest. Every time I see someone from Broken Heart Creek calling, it feels like a coin toss. Part of me aches for news about Liam. The other part is terrified to hear it.
I answer, my voice tentative. “Hello?”
“Hey, friend,” Phern says, her voice bright, but there’s a tension under it. “Where are you?”
I blink. “At this moment? Just leaving a doctor’s appointment. Where are you?”
“The airport. In Wichita.”
I freeze. “What?”
“You heard me,” she says. “Can you come get me?”
A hundred questions crowd my brain, but I just sigh. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Ten minutes later, we’re standing outside the airport, and the second she sees me, Phern bursts into tears. So do I. We collide into a hug, holding each other like lost sisters finally finding a way home.
“You’re really here,” I whisper.
“Yeah. I’m really here.”
