Relief washes over me when he answers, and I cut him off mid-hello.
“Suraj, hi. Sorry to call you out of the blue, but I’m wondering if you’ve heard from Nisha today? She left me a . . . strange voicemail a few days ago.” I skip the part about it worrying the hell out of me. “I just heard it this morning since I was unreachable on set.”
I also leave out the part about taking the first flight home because of the voicemail, or that I got home to find her stuff missing. No point worrying him until I know more.
“Patton, good to hear from you.” My father-in-law’s usually boisterous voice sounds uncharacteristically subdued. “Actually . . . yes. I flew back with Nisha last night. She said she’ll be staying with me for a little while.”
The relief I just felt after hearing his voice evaporates instantly. “She’s with you? Why? Is she okay?”
There’s a pause, and I can hear some rustling in the background before a door slides open and shut. The faint sound of traffic comes through the line, indicating he’s stepped outside.
“Son . . .” His voice is gentle, as if he’s unsure how to deliver the rest of the message. “Did you read the note she left for you? She pinned it to your fridge.”
I immediately find the note—a piece of the same lined paper that’s crumpled inside my pocket—stuck to the fridge.
Suraj takes a long breath. “Son, she’s been through a lot over the past few days . . . Something no one should have to go through.”
“W-what do you mean? What has she been through?” I stutter out the questions even as my gut tells me that I already know.
The baby. Something happened to the baby.
The baby her body took on so much to create and house. The baby we’ve talked about so often ever since she got pregnant again. The baby we both have wanted for so long.
“I believe you’ll find your answers in the note?—”
“Suraj, I’ll read the note, but can you please put my wife on the phone? I need to speak to her. Whatever she’s going through, we can get through it together.”
“She just laid down for a nap. But, Patton, I spoke to her. I even tried to convince her to talk to you. But she says she’s not ready.”
“Can you just tell me what happened? Did something happen to her, to the baby? Is this about me leaving for Thailand? I can get out of the contract if that’s what she wants. I can figure out a way to stop working so much?—”
“Patton, I don’t know if this is about what she wants. It’s a question of what she needs. I think at some point you’ll both need to do some soul searching and figure out if your wants and needs align anymore.”
What? What does that mean? What does he mean, we’ll need to figure out if our wants align? Of course, they align.
“Suraj—”
“Give her time, Patton. She’s . . . not herself right now. When she’s ready to talk, I’m sure she will.”
The hollow in my chest threatens to take over my body while the same thought keeps circling inside my brain.How can this be happening?
“How long?” I ask, choking on the words. “How long does she need?”
“I don’t know . . . I’m sorry, son.”
Sitting on the kitchen floor, with my back against the cabinets, something dies inside me as I read the letter my wife left me.
The moment feels surreal, like a nightmare I can’t wake myself up from.
Patton,
Here are my truths.
The first truth is that I love you. I will always love you.
The second is that I lost our baby three nights ago.
My breath halts inside my lungs, my vision going blurry as the words fuse together on the page. I read them again, slowly this time, as if they’ll make more sense, but they don’t.
