The second my lips touch her hair, the bubble bursts and my eyes open.
It was a dream, a beautiful dream.
I’m lying on my back, staring at the stark white ceiling. The lights are too bright for my liking. I blink to adjust my eyes, but they still feel sore, as though I have been crying for hours.
I flick my tongue over my dry lips, swallow through my parched throat, then I force my lips apart to speak. “What happened?”
My question is directed to no one in particular. I don’t see anyone close by. I’m too weak and tired to look to either side of the small bed. My eyes are growing heavy again. Sleep is calling me back to the beautiful dream I had.
A face appears above me. It takes a moment for my eyes to focus before I make out that it’s my husband.
“Alex, what happened?”
“Thank God you’re awake.” He lowers his head to mine and kisses my lips, then he presses the button on the remote control next to my bed.
A nurse enters the room. I listen to them talking, but there’s a sudden ringing in my ears that makes it hard for me to make out what they’re saying. Finally, the nurse looks down at me with a kind smile. She must be asking me something. Her lips are moving, but I don’t understand what she’s saying.
I only blink in response.
That one little movement brings the memories rushing back to me, slamming into me so hard I gasp for air. I remember everything, the stairs, the pain, my blood. So much blood. I remember the sudden darkness that fell over me.
Panic grips me, refusing to let go. I’m too nervous to touch my stomach, afraid to find it deflated.
It’s too early for the baby to come. I still have a few weeks left before my due date—time it needs to become stronger.
Every morning when I woke up, the first thing I did was touch my stomach and prayed that the baby was fine. All those prayers had to have meant something. God would not let me down, not again.
“Alex,” I murmur, my eyes searching his face. I gather up my strength and reach out my hand for his. The warmth of his large hand enveloping mine is comforting. “Is our baby okay?”
His face falls and his lips stretch into a thin line. The look he’s giving me is one I’ve seen many times before.
“No.” The word chokes my throat as it makes its way out. “No, Alex.” I shake my head. My skull feels like it’s being stabbedwith an ice pick, but I don’t care.
The nurse comes closer and launches into an explanation of what happened.
I had passed out. I was rushed to the hospital and they did an emergency C-section.There were complications.
None of those words are new to me. I’ve heard them many times before. Sometimes the miscarriages happened in the hospital. And sometimes they happened at home. The doctors and nurses all said the same things, with little variation.
“We almost lost both you and the baby,” she continues. “She was—”
“She? She was a girl?” I ask in a hoarse whisper.
The baby girl I saw in my dream. It was her. She had come to comfort me, to say goodbye.
“Where’s my baby?” The tears slide down my cheeks and into my ears before spilling onto the pillow. “Where is my daughter?” I grip my stomach. It’s numb from the anesthesia they must have injected into me to kill any feeling in my lower body.
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Mrs. Watson.” It’s a different voice coming from the door. I turn my head to see a woman with a bun on one side of her head stepping into the room—probably the doctor.
She looks at me with kind eyes, but no amount of kindness can heal the wounds or bring back my baby. “We did everything we could.”
They couldn’t have done everything. If they had, my baby would be here in my arms. I would be smelling the top of her head, stroking her warm cheeks. I would be breastfeeding her.
I thought we had finally shaken our bad luck. I thought my prayers had finally been answered. Maybe we aren’t meant to have children at all. Maybe my mother was right, that we’re cursed because of my disobedience.
“It’s not true.” I look at Alex and shake my head. “Please tell me it’s not true.” I bite into my lip hard, my eyes pleading with his.
I heard what the nurse and doctor said, but I want to hear it from him. I want him to tell me in his own words that our daughter is gone, that the hope we had been holding onto is dead and gone with her.
