What would I say anyway? A beautiful child?
That didn’t even begin to scratch the surface.
Another freaking tear came out and I cussed again. I handed Miranda the stack of pictures with shaking hands. Didn’t want to see any more of what I’d lost.
When my hands were free, I ran them over my face, pressing the moisture into the pads of my fingers. Miranda laid her head against my shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Jack.”
“You have no reason to be apologizing.”
I slipped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her intomy chest. Her head bounced up as I took an almost violent inhale. I ran my hand over her head. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”
“It’s not your fault.”
She was absolutely wrong. All of this was my fault.
I said nothing.
“We’re both here now. That’s what matters.”
We sat in silence for a few minutes. My tears had dried but something had settled into my heart like a death sentence.
I did this to her. To Kacey. To us.
I had abandoned her long before she left.
My presence now didn’t change a damn thing.
I wanted to drive my fists through a wall as hot, raw anger pushed out the grief. I was the idiot that caused this mess.
I withdrew my arm and she sat up.
“Thank you for showing me.”
She gave me a sad smile. “Thanks for looking.”
Thanks for looking? She was thanking me for giving a crap, which proved just how big of a clueless asshole I’d been in the past. Ididcare about her, but had failed to demonstrate it to the point that my wife wasthankingme for flipping through the pages of a book she’d made with pieces of her soul. Like just viewing it was some big sacrifice on my part.
Man, I’d screwed up.
I’d screwed up so big I understood why Miranda didn’t want anything to do with me. Whywouldshe? I had trampled the most tender parts of her. Her miscarriages weren’t a body malfunction to her. But I treated them that way. Like a sucky period.
I inwardly cursed myself.
I’m a smart guy. Why hadn’t I treated our babies like what they were? Treated my wife like a grievingmother?
“I’m, uh, pretty tired from today.”
“Okay. I know it was long.”
“It was.”
She moved to scoot off the bed.
I wanted to say something. Wanted to enter into this pain with her. Wanted to make up for lost time somehow, someway, but I was being crushed under a thousand pounds of regret. And I didn’t know what to do with it. There was no answer. No time machine. No way to make it right.
She hesitated at my door like she wanted to say something, but she didn’t. The door softly shut behind her.
