She buries her face into me as if she’s trying to crawl her way into my body. I let her. She needs this.
Fuck. We both do.
“I’m here. I’ve got you. It’s okay to hurt,” I whisper, my voice thick with emotion as I rock her. “Let go, baby.”
And she does.
My girl pours her devastation into the dark room, releasing every ounce of pain buried deep inside her. The whole time, I murmur words of love and adoration, reminding her she isn’t alone.
I knew this moment was coming, but I’d made the mistake of thinking a full weekend of happiness, of all her favorite things, would lessen the hurt. Not make her forget—we’d never forget–but fuck, I was praying to at least give her some moments of peace amongst all the pain.
My eyes flick up to the massive skylight I had installed when I turned our attic into her permanent nest. A place for us to play, to fall into each other. Nowadays, we only escape up here when my parents can watch the twins, or they’re down for a solid night’s rest. It’s not nearly as often as either of us would like.
My arms tighten around her.
I’ll need to change that.
It doesn’t take long for her body to go limp, but the tears never stop flowing. With every heart wrenching sob that escapes her, I fall deeper and deeper into the memories that flood the space between us.
Tomorrow would have been our daughter's first birthday.
A little over a year and a half ago, we lost our girl, Lilah. We’d only just found out her sex in an early gender test Shiloh had taken.
I swallow hard, remembering the way we both cried as we read the results.
“Our family’s complete now, Logan.”
God, she was so fucking happy. We both were.
The next week, we celebrated the boy's first birthday with our family iand friends. Shi was glowing. Lilah was healthy. The boys were their usual happy, rambunctious selves.
And as I watched my family laugh and play, I was on the top of the world.
Not even seven days later, we were in the hospital grieving.
At thirteen weeks, we’d been cautiously optimistic. We knew given Shiloh’s past there was a chance things wouldn’t turn out,just as there had been for the boys. But damn, we’d hoped and prayed harder than ever before.
It’s crazy how quickly life changes. How drastically things can fall apart in the blink of an eye. One second, your world is perfect. Next, you’re questioning how you’ll survive the crushing pain tearing you apart. And despite what people say, time doesn’t heal all wounds. It only makes them smaller, more tolerable to bear, until suddenly they’re ripped open and you’re forced to feel that pain all over again.
I shake my head and rub my hand down her back, doing all I can to soothe her tears. It’s not enough. It will never be enough.
We both lost our daughter, but for my wife, it’s different.
For a mother, it’s more than loss, it’s defeat. Shiloh feels responsible for Lilah not making it. She blames herself for being too active when planning the boy’s party. It’s a hurt she’s struggled to let go of.
But I know it’s more than the party.
I know Shiloh blames her body. Feels betrayed by it.
And no matter how much time passes, no matter how much love I pour into her, I don’t think her hurt is something I’ll ever be able to heal.
“I-I’m so sorry,” she cries, digging her nails into my chest. I let her. If she needs to give me her pain, I’ll take it. I’ll take it all.
I shake my head. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Shiloh. Nothing at all.”
“You did so much for me today and I’m being a bitch.”
Her words are muffled, and it takes me a moment to decipher them, but when I do, my jaw ticks. I gently pull her face from chest, tipping her chin so I can see her red-rimmed eyes.
