While the plane idled on the tarmac at Berry Field Nashville Airport, I started cramping in my lower abdomen. In the lavatory, fear struck my heart.
I was spotting.
Those little tinges of pink on the tissue sent panic coursing through my veins. We got married sooner than we would have because of the baby. We picked a house to rent with an extra bedroom and had already mapped out the nursery. We talked late into many nights, discussing names and dreaming together.
Jack wassohappy.
I was happy, too.
This cannot be happening right now.
I exited the lavatory with shaking hands and a twisting stomach. I tried to pull myself together. Tried to remind myself pregnancy spotting does notalwaysmean a miscarriage. Tried to take a few deep breaths and not freak out.
But I knew. The life I was living was too good to be true.
I tucked my chin as I passed by the rows, returning to Jack who had an aisle seat. When his eyes met my face above the rows, his expression shifted, immediately reading mine. Somehow, my body accepted what was about to happen. And eventhough my brain wasn’t convinced, my heart was already breaking.
The bleeding escalated so quickly we had to scramble, stopping at a store inside the airport for some feminine products. I was crying my eyes out as we picked through baggage claim, caught a transit, and found our truck.
Jack was a stone wall. He had no idea what to do. No idea how to comfort me or support me while my hopes and dreams shattered into a million pieces.
Within four hours, the baby was gone.
And so was the first piece of my heart.
I stared straight out the truck window, letting my tired body sway with the curves and turns. Jack drove. The quiet was heavy, smothering. The hum of the engine and tires suffocated me. I hoped he would break the silence because I didn’t have the strength. I fisted a bottle of prescription strength ibuprofen and hospital discharge papers. Despite my attempts to distract my imagination, I couldn’t help but wonder what they did with my baby.
After two weeks of spotting and a confirming ultrasound, I went in for a D&E procedure. The meds were wearing off and my head was clearing. I wished it wouldn’t. Wished I could just sleep through the next few weeks.
I didn’t want to mourn another loss.
This baby was nine weeks, so we hadn’t told anyone yet. Jack said we shouldn’t makeita big deal until we knew whether I’d have a normal pregnancy or not. The joy of new life wasn’t even celebrated. His caution and hesitancy to get too excited protectedhim.
But it left my heart in open water.
Because I celebrated alone, I grieved alone.
Jack had one hand on the wheel and one on my thigh. It felt distant, cold. He was there but not really. His heart was far away. Just like it had been before.
For Jack,vulnerabilitymeant an empty magazine.
When he spoke, I winced.
“We can always try again, Miranda.”
Could we? Two in a row felt like a bad omen.
I blinked, turning my face toward the window so he wouldn’t see the few tears leaking out. In our marriage, I learned sad tears made him uncomfortable. So, I swiped them away.
“It’s going to be okay, you’ll see.”
Those were pretty words. I expected pretty words from the outside world, but not Jack. Not myhusband. I was broken for weeks after our first. And when I slowly bounced back, a piece of me was missing. I would never be the same.
Jack didn’t understand it. Or if he did, he didn’t care.
“We’ve only been married five months.” He shrugged. “We—we probably weren’t ready for a baby anyway.”
I ground my teeth. Now, the silence was preferable.
