“It wasn’t Josie.”
Chapter twenty-nine
Steven
When It Was Survival
I’mapridefulman.
I hate admitting it, but it can be hard to hide, especially when I’m sitting in a doctor’s office as a doctor myself. Pride has always been a part of me. It’s what’s pushed me through sleepless nights, through years of long shifts, making decisions that could change someone’s life in seconds. I pride myself on being good at what I do, though I try to keep the ugly side of it subdued.
But then there are moments where containing it seems to be impossible. The righteous heat that burns in my chest when I know,know, that I’m probably smarter, more experienced, or just plain right. It’s a feeling that’s hard to bury once it starts rising. The blood rushes to my ears, and I have to clench my jaw to keep from saying something I’ll regret.
Most of the time, I manage to stay quiet. I’ll nod politely, let the conversation end, then rant to myself later in the car where no one can hear me.
But right now, I can’t keep my mouth shut.
“Dr. Jones, I need you to calm down.”
“Check again!” I shout before I even realize I’ve raised my voice. My pulse is racing, and even though it’s probably sixty degrees in this room, my body is on fire. Rational thought is lost to a tangled blur of panic and outrage. I take a breath, force it through my teeth, and add, “Please.”
The sonographer looks at Dr. Malone, who gives her a small, measured nod. She hesitates before squeezing another drop of gel onto the edge of the wand and placing it on Emma’s belly a second time. Dr. Malone steps closer to the monitor as waves of black and gray stretch across the screen. My heart pounds in my throat.
I squeeze Emma’s hand. It’s cold and slick against mine. She won’t look at me, keeping her eyes fixed on the monitor, tears already cascading down her cheeks. Her hand starts to tremble as the sonographer moves the wand across her stomach.
Three weeks ago was the test.
After a year of actively trying for another baby, we finally got that faint pink line. And it felt like everything in our home changed overnight. The tension, the distance…all of it gone, and I felt like I could breathe again.
It’s cliche, I know, to think a baby could fix your marriage. But damn it, my wife wanted another baby. And I would give her anything she wanted. We’d spent months talking it through, weighing the pros and cons, always circling back to the same fear: her mental health. As our family grows, her anxiety seems to grow with it. Adding another child for her to worry about on top of everything else wasn’t ideal for me at first.
But when she smiled at that test, all of it seemed to fade for a moment.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t stressed. Another mouth to feed in this economy isn’t exactly comforting. But deep down, I believed we’d make it work. We always had.
So, we started planning. We pulled down boxes labeledbabyfrom the attic, moved the boys’ play fort to the garage, cleared out the office, ordered a crib. Maybe it seemed like overkill this early on, but we knew what to do. We’d done this before.
It felt like we were us again. Laughing, planning,hoping. Living inside that fragile, beautiful bubble of anticipation. I’d catch her humming in the kitchen again. I’d see that spark in her eyes I hadn’t seen in months. Ihad my wife back—something I’ve been aching for longer than I realized. I had no idea how far apart we’d grown until last year. After my mom fell, it became abundantly clear how distant I had become, how unaware of my own family I was. I was so distracted, wrapped up in work, in providing, in being the man who fixes things. I was so focused ondoingfor my family that I’d forgotten the most important part wasbeingwith them.
And this baby, this new life, felt like our second chance.
So you can’t blame me for being a little on edge when they tell us there’s been a mistake.
We stare at the screen for what feels like an eternity, waiting for something,anything,to happen. Holding our breaths, with the steady tick of a clock the only noise in the room.
Then Dr. Malone exhales softly, his finger hovering over the machine, before he finally clicks it off. Emma begins to sob, and my chest tears open with it.
“I’m so sorry,” Dr. Malone says quietly. “We’ll give you some time.”
Neither of us speaks as they leave the room, Emma’s cries filling the room like a storm you can’t take cover from. I feel helpless as she falls apart right before my eyes. I want to hold her, keep her together, but she won’t look at me. Her eyes are locked on the black screen.
“It doesn’t make any sense,” she says after a long moment. Her voice is a frayed tendril of emotion, slowly unraveling with each shaky breath.
The red light at the bottom of the monitor blinks in rhythm with the clock.Blink. Tick. Blink. Tick.My ears pulse, and the floor beneath me seems to shake.Is this really happening?
“What did I do wrong?” she cries.
That question—those five words—break me.
