She holds me close, giving me this moment to decompress even as I’m sure she’s in an agony all her own. I attempt to pull back but she doesn’t release me, so after a moment I ask, “Do you want to talk about it now?”
She’s silent for a moment and I wish I could see her face. But then she whispers, “What’s there to talk about?”
“Don’t do that, Cass,” I respond gruffly. “Don’t you try to push me away right now. I won’t have it.”
Again, she falls silent, but her hold on me loosens some, so I pull back, look her in the eyes as I state, “You can pretend you don’t need me all you want, but I won’t pretend I don’t need you.”
Her expression immediately softens, her lips press together, her brow creases. Her inhalation is rough, her exhalationcoming out more of a sob than a breath.She clears her throat then croaks, “Talking about it makes it too real.”
“Not talking about it doesn’t make it any less real.”
“I remember being in pain. And then you shouting my name in the arena. Your mom talking to me in the ambulance. Then nothing.”
“Do you know what happened?”
She looks at me and shrugs. “I assume miscarriage.”
“You had an ectopic pregnancy,” I explain, doing my best to keep my words clear even though I feel like my tongue is too big in my mouth. “It ruptured your fallopian tube and caused quite a bit of internal bleeding.”
She frowns. ”It?”
I swallow the lump in my throat before responding, “The embryo.”
She turns wide eyes to me, her expression turning angry. I put up my hand and explain, “The only way I can get through this is to use as many medical terms as I know,” I pause, giving her a moment to digest my words, and once she nods I add, “I’m sure your medical team will explain the process in greater detail, this is just the gist of it all.”
She takes in a shuddering breath, her eyes closing briefly before opening and meeting mine. “What did they have to do?”
“They went in and removed your fallopian tube.”
“I see,” she responds quietly. “And…”
She doesn’t have to finish her question, I already know what she’s asking, so I nod, allowing my silence to carry the answer she already knows. She recoils from me, turns her face away, and then attempts to roll onto her side, only to wince and become still.
I give her a moment, watching her face as she shifts from one emotion to the next before settling on sorrow. I shift closer to heron the bed, wanting her to feel my presence without jarring her too much.
Reaching for her hand, I hold on loosely, giving her the option for space if she needs it. At first she doesn’t respond, her hand remaining limp in my grasp, but then, slowly, she holds on.
“Look at me,” I rasp, taking her hands on both of mine. “You look at me.”
For a long moment she ignores me, keeping her face turned away. I lean over her, attempting to put myself in her line of sight and failing, so I say again, “Please, Cass. Look at me.”
She blinks a few times, her throat working as she swallows. She attempts to wipe her wet cheek on her shoulder, but it’s no use; the tears are falling too freely for it to do much good. Her head turns, her eyes finally meeting mine and I whisper, “I know I will never understand what it’s like to lose a life growing inside me, but I do know that I love you, and I love our baby, and you’re not going to grieve alone. You’re not alone in this.”
She stares back at me, her expression hard, and I’m uncertain if she’s looking at me or through me. I squeeze her hands again, looking for any sign that she heard me, that she’s there with me, but she remains still but for the tears on her cheeks, the throb of her pulse in her neck.
I wait another moment, then whisper, “I got you, babe,” resigned to doing whatever I have to do for however long I have to do it to show her I mean what I say.
But then, piece by piece, her armor cracks, then falls, her broken sob violent in the otherwise still room. Tears stream down her face, the loud sobs falling indicative of her heart breaking open before me.
A touch on my shoulder startles me, and I turn to find Laura standing there, watching with sad eyes. She motions for me to move up the bed, helping me position myself so I’m cradling Cassidy against me without putting any pressure on her middle.
She shifts easily, perfectly malleable in her grief, trusting me enough to lean on me, letting me hold her up when she’s crumbling.
Laura meets my eyes, and I mouth “thank you,” to which she nods and exits the room, closing the door behind her.
Shadows edge into the room, the first glimmers of sunrise peeking from behind the blinds. And we lie there, together, the cold hand of grief shrouding us.
33
