“Are you okay?” I ask her gently.
Concern knits my brow.
“Just…I’m hurting,” she whispers, her brows furrowing with pain, and I know I did right by making sure she's not alone tonight.
“I’ll have you comfortable in no time," I assure her. "I’m only about twelve minutes from here. I have one of those heating pads that you warm up in the microwave, too, to put on your belly if you want it.”
I place her carefully in the car, not concerned with the seat belt. Once I'm in the driver's seat, I glance into the back, making sure her hospital bag is there, suddenly worried we'd left it with the guys. I just want to make sure she has what she needs. I'd overheard the nurse tell her about needing to change pads and all the stuff that happens after a miscarriage, and I don't want her to have to worry about a thing once she's in my home. I turn my head. She's reclined in the seat, her long eyelashes flutter against her cheeks as she succumbs to her exhaustion.
I know it's inappropriate, but I reach out a hand and lay it on the soft swell of her stomach, right under her belly button. The loss she's experiencing is unimaginable, and she deserves to have someone hold space for her, so I will.
Turning, I place my hand on the back of her headrest, reverse efficiently out of her little driveway, and head down the road for the fifteen minute drive to my house.
Sarah is sleeping hard when I pull through the gate, so I park out front, not wanting to be bothered with the garage. Taking the steps fast, I open the front door of the house and go back to the car, gently lifting her out before carrying her inside. Her hair is so long I can feel it brushing the front of my legs through my dress pants.
I carry her slowly up the stairs, careful to not jostle her back, and turn to the right to one of three guest bedrooms, and push the door open with my foot.
I'm not ready to put her down, I realize.
I pause momentarily, relishing the warm puffs of her breath against my neck. I cradle her body gently against mine, also realizing I really like the weight of her in my arms. She's so soft.
Walking to the queen-sized bed I maneuver carefully, yanking back the sheets and laying her down as gently as I can manage. Seeing her hair caught, I frown at how uncomfortable it looks snagged underneath her.
I click my tongue, lean down to pull her head back up slightly, and firmly pull her hair out from underneath her and to the side. I watch with furrowed brows as the long mass spills down the side of the mattress. That can't be comfortable either. It takes a lot of maneuvering, but I finally get it. I think.
Feeling the fatigue settle bone deep, I blink tiredly as I pull the blankets over her.
I leave my guest room to grab all of her stuff from where I left it in the foyer, and bring it to the bedroom. Trying to be quiet, I glance at her as I place her things in a small guest chair, happy she's still sleeping peacefully. Her hand rests against her cheek as she sleeps curled in on herself.
I open her hospital bag and pull out her soiled clothes, hoping I'm not overstepping.
Taking her clothes into the laundry room, I unload the bag. There's just a skirt and tank top. The underwear is gone, letting me know she wanted to keep her skirt. I bring it to the sink and open the overhead cabinet, looking for cleaners.
Finding the stain remover, I plug the sink to let it fill up and soak her blood-stained clothing with the stain remover before scrubbing and soaking again. I put it to the side, promising to finish it in the morning.
Exiting the room once more, I pad to the master bedroom and hurriedly throw myself in the shower, getting out and dressing in a pair of pajama bottoms and a muscle shirt. As I'm yanking it down, my eyes snap to my bedroom door as that new burst ofwarmth glows in my chest. She's right down the hallway, and I miss her. I don't want her to be alone.
And I don't want to be alone, either.
Toweling off my hair, I go back to the bedroom with Sarah and tentatively crawl into the other side with her before falling into a light sleep. I'm exhausted myself, having been up since four-thirty that morning.
A few hours later, I stir at the sound of a tortured moaning and sit up in bed, blinking away the sleep from my eyes. My head tilts to find Sarah’s curvy body in the moonlight, turned away from me.
The moaning continues, followed by a sob. Then another sob and sniffle.
"Hang on, sweetheart," I say.
I get up to grab her pain medicine, then kneel by her side of the bed, and hold water to her lips to help her drink. She's trembling and still half-asleep.
"It h-hurts. My back, my heart…everything just hurts so bad," she whispers, closing her eyes and putting her head back on the pillow. "What did I ever do to deserve this?"
Jesus…How many times can a man's heart shatter in one day?
"You don't deserve this. No one does," I whisper back, brushing my thumb down her cheek.
"I obviously do."
My heart cracks further at the raw pain in her voice. Carefully climbing back into bed behind her, I reach over, brushing gentle fingers down her arm before moving closer and curling myself around her from behind. I know this is forward, but I have this innate, primal desire to comfort and protect her. Wrapping my arms around her, I rub small circles into her belly holding her through it.
