Page 148 of A Little Secret

Finley shakes her head back and forth again, her tears falling freely down her cheeks. “I’d rather have an official answer from you first.”

The technician’s expression falls, and I hate that I see it. The glimpse of pity hidden behind her stoicism. She’s seen this before. Probably more times than I can count. Yet here we are, pretending like everything might be fine.

Fin’s right. The quicker we do this ultrasound, the quicker we can see past the unknown and grieve or celebrate the way we need to.

A lump forms in my throat as I help Finley lift her gown a little more, noticing the deep crimson stain on the bottom edge of the fabric from where she’d been sitting on it. My hands shake as I move it to the side, covering the blood-soaked splotch with some excess blanket while making sure her stomach stays uncovered in the process so Beth can do what she needs to, and we can get some answers. Grabbing Finley’s hand, I thread our fingers together, and bring them to my lips, kissing her soft skin.

Fuck.

Fuck!

I want to hit something. I want to rip the world apart. I want to burn the building to the ground. I want to throw Finley over my shoulder and carry her away. Where she’s safe. Where nothing can hurt her. Nothing. But that’s the shitty thing about life. It has a way of catching up with you. And I hate how a small piece of me. A piece I don’t even want to fucking acknowledge. Already knows the truth.

It’s too late.

A burn hits behind my eyes as the technician squeezes some goop onto the wand, then presses it to Finley’s bare midsection right above her pubic bone. She drags thescreen a little closer to her, keeping it angled away from us while wiggling the wand back and forth in hopes of gaining a clearer picture.

“Is the baby okay?” Finley whispers.

The technician hesitates, refusing to look away from what I assume is a grainy image. Or at least that’s what was on the ultrasound last time. Just a grainy, black-and-white picture and the promise of an indescribable future. Fuck, it feels like a lifetime ago. When we were here. Together. Seeing the baby for the first time.

Please be okay.

“The doctor will be in to look at everything and can give you an update,” the technician offers.

“Tell me he’s okay,” Finley pushes. It’s a plea.

Without a word, the technician lifts the wand, wipes the goo off with a tissue, and offers one to Finley. It hangs in the air between them as Finley releases a shuddering breath.

“Tell me my baby’s okay,” she begs.

Reaching for the tissue, I help Finley clean up as the technician leaves the room, and it’s all I need to know the truth.

The baby’s gone.

Fuck!

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

FINLEY

Dr. Brandish promised my epilepsy had nothing to do with it. I want to believe him. I do. But sometimes…sometimes, it sucks. Not knowing. They offered to do a D and C, which is basically a procedure where a doctor goes in and scrapes out your insides while you’re under anesthesia. However, thanks to the ultrasound, it didn’t look necessary. My body is already doing its job. That’s what the doctor said. Like it’s normal tonotcarry a baby to term. Like it’s normal for a body to abort an innocent human all on its own instead of being a safe haven for an embryo to grow and thrive.

Because that’s what a normal body is supposed to do. To protect. To nurture. Not to destroy and discard. The reminder makes my stomach lurch, leaving me nauseated and disgustingly exhausted.

Griffin hasn’t left my side.

Neither have my parents.

And I know they love me. I know they want me to be safe and comforted. But there isn’t any comfort in this.

I should be happy, right? That’s what the little voiceinside my head keeps saying. I should be happy about this. I don’t have to be a mom at nineteen anymore. I don’t have to put my life on hold.

Instead, I’m heartbroken. Heartbroken and nauseated and crampy and…shit. I need to go to the bathroom again. The pad’s already soaked. I swear I’ve changed it ten times since we made it home and I convinced my parents to give me some space.

They’re sleeping in the guest bedroom. Well, sleeping might be a bit of a stretch. I’d bet a thousand dollars they’re holed up in there with their ears pressed to the door, waiting and ready in case I need anything.

I should find it sweet. Instead, I find it suffocating.

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