Page 106 of Finding Our Reality

Oh, shit.

I have a kid.I had a kid.

Lulu’s eyes are closed in this picture, as she’s kissing the top of our daughter’s head. It looks like she’s praying. Praying for our daughter to live? Praying for the pain to stop? Praying for me to be there? The sight of blood all over her makes my soul plummet to the depths of hell.

And that baby? Our baby? She’s the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen. Lulu was right, she’s beautiful.She was beautiful.

“She doesn’t look sick.”

“No. At first, I didn’t believe them when they told me how sick she was. She looked like a perfectly healthy baby to me. Ten fingers. Ten toes. Eyes that looked at me. But the lack of oxygen and blood flow damaged her organs. They called it fetal hypoxia and fetal respiratory acidosis. I promise they did everything they could. They just couldn’t get me out of the car quick enough.”

My throat feels raw and swollen, like I just guzzled a cocktail of screws and nails. I can’t even swallow. I reach for the glass of water and down the rest of it in one gulp. Unable to fight the despair growing in my heart, I throw the glass as hard as I can off the porch. It hits the side of a tree and shatters into a million pieces. The jagged shards shimmer underneath the moonlight. Tears stream down my face, burning me, scalding me.

I’m such a pussy. I should be comforting Lulu, but all I’ve done tonight is cry.

I should close my eyes, but I can’t stop looking at the picture of my baby girl. Every time the screen starts to grow dark, Lulu reaches around, tapping it and making it light up again.

Minutes. Hours. I’m not sure, but eventually, enough time passes that my tears dry and my body stops shaking.

Standing tall, I stretch my back and roll my shoulders, trying to ease the tension. I hand the phone back to Lulu. “She’s beautiful. And you’re beautiful. I should have been there. I fucking ruined our lives, and I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am, Lulu. I’m not even gonna ask for your forgiveness, I don’t deserve it. And I can’t believe I’m saying this, but no matter how much I’ve always hated Hudson, I’m glad you didn’t have to go through all of that alone. I’m grateful that he was by your side.”

Lulu bites her lip, slowly walking back over to the swing. She sits down and tosses her phone back into her purse.

She’s not telling me something. “Lulu?”

She sighs, crossing her legs and lifting her chin. “I was alone. He wasn’t there.”

“Excuse me?”

“I was alone. Hudson wasn’t there.”

“What do you mean, he wasn’t there? He was your husband, wasn’t he?” I ask.

“He went on a ski trip with a bunch of friends over Thanksgiving break. He didn’t fly back in until Monday night.”

“And the wreck was on Saturday night?”

She nods. “Yes.”

That bastard. I rub my eyes so hard they nearly pop out of my eye sockets. “He shouldn’t have left his pregnant wife—his high-risk pregnant wife—home by herself to go on a ski trip with his buddies. And he should’ve been on the very first plane back.”

She shrugs. “Monday was his normal return flight.”

A murderous rage courses through my blood. “Are you kidding me right now? I’m gonna kill him.”

She raises her eyebrows, looking at me like I’m a child who’s throwing an unwarranted temper tantrum.

“Don’t look at me like that, Lulu. He was your husband. I don’t care if it was a marriage of necessity. He should’ve been there. I can’t believe he was a jackass for the entire time you were married. Beginning to end.”

“He tried in the beginning. Well, he tried the best he knew how. He was still a kid. He was nice, he tried to please me. In all fairness, I set the bar pretty high for him.” She pins me with a stare. “He wasn’t you. And I resented him because of that. He was my husband, and I wouldn’t even let him touch me. I told him that I couldn’t have sex with him while I was pregnant. I told him the doctor said it was too much of a risk.” She reaches around and rubs her scar in thought. “Not to be graphic, but I just couldn’t fathom the idea of him being inside me, pouring himself into me, into the same place where your baby was growing.”

She watches as a bug flies around the flickering front porch light. “Anyway, he tried in the beginning, but he stopped trying after the baby was born.”

I pace back and forth across the porch. “Why? Why did he stop trying? Was he grieving her loss? Was he angry?”

“He was angry, alright, but not because she didn’t make it.”

“Then why?”

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