Page 32 of Sin and Redemption

“We have soil drills,” Dad grumbled when he joined me in the late afternoon. Mom was inside. She quickly realized that her concern annoyed me and had gone in to cook a hearty comfort meal. She didn’t enjoy cooking but enjoyed feeding us, so she always put something somewhat delicious on the table.

I looked up from the five-inch-deep hole. It was the third hole I was working on. Progress was slow, but with every swing of the axe, I felt a little more like myself.

Dad met my gaze. His amber eyes searched my face, curious, but not filled with overwhelming concern or even pity. Dad wasn’t an emotional man, not even during torture. I was glad for his stoic calm now.

“Then we’ll use the pickax. Hand me one,” Dad said as he rolled up the sleeves of his thermal jacket, revealing his many tattoos. I too had more than a dozen tattoos, but Dad still beat me to it.

He got down on his knees a few feet beside me and started working on a new hole. Soil and small stones flew everywhere as he smashed the axe into the ground. I continued my own work, enjoying the feel of sweat and dirt on my skin.

“There was a point in my life when I thought nothing good would ever happen. Then I was given your mother. Fuck. I didn’t deserve her. I probably still don’t, but I knew she was my only shot at happiness. It wasn’t easy. The circumstances were shitty, and your mom probably shouldn’t have forgiven me, but she did, and I count my blessings every day.”

“Our situations are different.”

“Indeed. You had no choice in what happened. I chose to be a bad person.”

I rammed the axe with even more force into the ground. “Mom loves you. You love Mom. Sara and I don’t know each other enough for any real feelings. Unless you count contempt, which I’m sure she’s feeling for me.”

“Love didn’t just happen to your mom and me. It took time. Give it time, Maximus. Sara is now your wife. She’ll be a part of your life, and it’s your responsibility to make the best of it for her sake too.”

I shoved to my feet, annoyed that even Dad wanted to discuss my emotions. Fuck. I didn’t need to hear any of this. “The only connection Sara and I had died in her womb. So don’t tell me what I can or can’t do.”

Dad stayed on the ground. “You are a Trevisan, and I know you won’t give up, even if you can’t see it now.”

I gritted my teeth and got back down on my knees and picked up the axe again. We worked in silence after that, but Dad’s words of confidence kept replaying in my head. I wanted to fight for a happy life for Sara. It was the least I could do.

I stayed the night at my parents’ but really wanted to stay there even longer. I didn’t want to return to Maximus’s and my apartment. It didn’t feel like home, and now it probably would never feel that way. No tiny feet would fill the space with their sounds, no bubbly baby laughter. Nothing but oppressing silence.

But people would start talking if they found out I had moved out only one day after our wedding. I lay in bed and stared up at the ceiling. I’d been in bed since Mom had taken me home yesterday. I didn’t have the energy to get up.

A knock sounded.

“Sara?”

“Come in,” I said. My voice sounded whispy and raw. I wasn’t sure how long I’d cried. Eventually, I’d fallen asleep on Mom’s lap.

Mom came in, carrying a tray with food, her face full of concern. She put the tray down beside me on the bed. It was filled with my favorite buttermilk waffles, fresh berries, and maple mascarpone dip.

“Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”

Mom touched my hand, which lay motionless beside me. “You have to eat.”

“Why? I’m not eating for two anymore,” I pressed out. My throat clogged up, and my eyes burned with new tears. I wasn’t sure how my body could still produce a single tear. I’d already cried so much.

“Oh Sara, love. I wish I could take this pain from you. It’s one I’d hoped you’d never experience. I know how crushing it is.”

I searched Mom’s face. “Have you experienced it?”

Mom sighed, her eyes teary. “Twice, one at seven weeks, one at eight weeks.”

“You didn’t say anything yesterday.”

“I didn’t feel like it was the right time to share my own story with you.”

I took Mom’s hand in mine. “Did you blame yourself?”

Mom paused. “I think many women worry that they did something wrong, and that’s why it happened, but most of the time, it just happens because the pregnancy wasn’t viable. Do you blame yourself?”

I looked away. I’d never felt more guilty in my life. More tears filled my eyes as I considered all the times I’d wished I wasn’t pregnant from a horrible event and how often I’d worried that the baby would remind me of what happened. What if the baby had felt so unwanted it had simply perished? I closed my eyes and let out a deep sob, my heart aching so fiercely I wasn’t sure I could take another moment of it.

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