Again.
“Okay. Thank you for letting me know.”
“Are you all right, Ms. Isles?”
“Fine.” I press my fist to my mouth so I don’t cry. “I’m fine.” Then I hang up. I hug my knees to my chest and release a strangled sob. My heart hurts. There’s a pressure in my chest that won’t let up, and the same thought replays over and over again in my mind.
It didn’t work. I’m not pregnant.
I won’t get to feel a baby grow within me, or hear their first cry. My womb is empty. Barren. But why? What did I do wrong? I’ve been so careful to follow all the rules. Eat healthy, get plenty of sleep, stay active but don’t overdo it. I took the right vitamins and avoided anything that might make me sick. Is there something defective in my body that prevents me from getting pregnant? The doctor told me my eggs were fine, but maybe something else is wrong.
Tears stream down my cheeks and drip onto my yoga pants. There will be no tiny fingers for me to count, and no gurgling infant to cradle in my arms. At least, not this time. How do I tell Seth? He’s nearly as excited as I’ve been. How can I admit my body has let us down? That I’ve failed?
I get up and walk numbly to the kitchen, where I take two painkillers and grab a chocolate bar from the cupboard. Then I go to bed. I can feel myself spiraling into despair, and know I should call Seth like I said I would, but I’m not sure I can handle him right now. Not when I feel like slapping myself for failing. Instead, I curl up and cry.
A couple of hours into my pity party, my phone pings with a message from Seth, which only starts the waterworks again. I ignore it because I don’t know what to say to him. He’ll be wanting to know if everything is fine, and it’s not. I’m not okay. Twenty minutes later, he calls. I watch it ring, and pick up just before it goes to voicemail.
“It didn’t work,” I choke out, and then hang up before he can reply. I burrow deeper into my bed and pull the blankets up over my head. I want to insulate myself from the world for a while. I’ll come out eventually. However miserable I am, I can survive this. But for now, I need to have a moment to work through my grief.
When there’s a knock on the front door, I frown. Then I hear the rattle of a key in the lock, and my nerves fly into high alert.
“Ash?”
I relax. The voice is Seth’s. Not ideal, but at least it’s not an intruder. I sit up to greet him.
There are footsteps in the hall. They pass by my bedroom door, then track back and pause outside. The door creaks open.
“Ash, are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I reply as he comes into view, hating the fact he’s seeing me this way. So much like I used to be in the days after we lost Cara. Bundled up in bed, crying. Pathetic. “How did you get a key?”
“You still keep the spare inside one of your shoes on the doorstep, just like you used to.”
“Oh, yeah.” I should probably change that. “You don’t need to come in.”
He stands above me, his expression filled with concern. “You’re not pregnant?”
My face crumples. “No. I’m sorry.”
His gaze softens, and he sinks onto the bed, far enough from me that he isn’t in my personal space, although the very fact he’s in the room at all feels like an intrusion. “Don’t apologize.” He releases a shuddering breath and pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “I’m the one who’s sorry, sweetheart. I know how much you wanted it to work.” He starts to reach for me, then pauses. “Can I hold you?”
“Please.” I whisper the word because I know I shouldn’t accept his comfort. I need to stand strong on my own two legs, but despite his gruff exterior, Seth has an enormous heart and being in his arms is one of the few things that might have the power to help, even for a while.
“Thank you.” He kicks off his shoes and climbs under the blankets with me. One of his brawny arms wraps around my waist, and he pulls me close, then presses a kiss to the crown of my head. Resting my forehead on his chest, I let the tears flow.
“I’ve got you,” he tells me. “Let it all out. I know you’re disappointed. I am too.”
At that, I cry harder, because I know he is, and it’s my fault. He may not have had any plans to try for another baby, but during the past weeks it’s obvious he’s become emotionally invested. Why else would he be there every time I turn around?
“I’m sorry,” I sob. “I don’t know what I did wrong.”
For a microsecond, his big body stiffens, but then the muscles ease. “You did nothing wrong, baby girl. Sometimes things just don’t work out, but we can try again. They have more embryos, right?”
I wipe my eyes on the backs of my hands and blink up at him. “They do.”
His brows knit together. “Then however many times you want to try, I’m here to support you. If you need help financially, I’m here for that too.” He nuzzles my temple in a way that makes me melt into him. I don’t have any willpower to resist, and I can’t believe he’s being so sweet and understanding when he’s lost as much as I have. A chance at a future we both yearn for. I bury my face in his chest and snuggle into his warmth, drawing comfort from his strength. He smells like Deep Heat, with a faint undertone of sweat. He must have been at the gym before he came here.
“I’m sorry for pulling you away from work,” I mutter.
