Page 70 of Because of Her

We parted ways not long after, and I moved back to Melbourne with my tail between my legs, and nothing to show for the years I spent in Sydney. I don’t grieve my relationship with Blake, at least not anymore. A long time ago, I added Blake to the list of people who left me and moved on with my life. But after hearing Madison’s news, I’m realising I still grieve the child we both wanted.

“Let’s head back up,” I say as I squeeze Madison’s hand.

“I’ll drive you home,” she says. “I would have offered to drive you here, but I was worried you would have figured it out.”

I nudge her off the path, and the heel of her shoe sinks into the soggy ground. I laugh as she stumbles, pulling on my arm to gain her balance.

“I would have figured it out.”

CASSIDY

It’s not until I’ve walked into my apartment building that it hits me. The wine churns in my stomach, a physical representation of the storm in my mind. In my soul.

My sister, who I love dearly and will cherish always, is getting what she always wanted. What I also always wanted but can never have.

Since my diagnosis, I always held on to the idea that maybe it was my mother’s fault. There was no medical reason for my infertility, so I blamed her in some roundabout way. As though maybe the universe knew the only maternal reference I had was a deadbeat, so I wouldn’t know what I was doing. Maybe somewhere along the way, my mother running out on me made the powers that be think I’d run out on my child, too. Maybe the world wanted to stop the cycle before it began.

I truly believed it, and it made the whole situation feel, in some tiny way, okay. Like it wasn’t my fault. Another thing I could blame my useless mother for.

Only now, my sister is pregnant. My sister, whose mother also ran out on her. So my infertility can’t be my mother’s fault. It’s all on me.

I take the stairs slowly, pausing at each turn to stare out the tiny window between each floor. The sun is warm on my face, and I soak in the brightness, hoping it will spread through my veins.

I am happy for Madison, truly. And I’d be lying if I said I was shocked. Honestly, I’ve known this news was coming for a year. Every time I saw them, I would see today coming a littlecloser. I would come away and try to mentally prepare myself for the gut-wrenching mix of emotions I thought I would feel.

Nothing could have prepared me for this. I knew I’d be excited for Madison. I knew my heart would ache. I knew I’d feel jealous and envious and bitter.

Something different hits me now. Standing between the second and third floors, with my face in the sun. The twist in my stomach grows until my lungs are twisting, too. I fall forward, shoulders drooping and letting my forehead rest on the dusty window.

Guilt. I feel guilty, and for a while I stand, soaking in the emotion. Processing the feeling and wondering where it came from.

I did everything I could in my attempt to have a baby. Blake and I sacrificed the money we had saved for a house, for our wedding. I poked myself with needles until I was raging with enough hormones so that an even bigger needle could suck the eggs out of my ovaries. Then I was poked and prodded some more when we tried to put the embryo back in.

Blake stood with me the whole time, his defective girlfriend who couldn’t give him the baby he so desperately wanted. No, the babyweso desperately wanted.

My eyes snap open and my hands flex at my sides and it clicks. I gave up. It was never about blood for Blake, it was about a child. It wasn’t about bringing new life into this world, and spreading the love we shared. It was about raising a child and sharing in the joy of their exploration of the world.

And I took that from him. I held the physical pain with every failed month of trying and I decided I’d had enough. I let my hatred of my body fester until it spread. Until I couldn’t bear the thought of bringing a child into our relationship. Until it forced a wedge between me and the man I loved.

I hadn’t realised until now, or maybe I never took the time to process it. I couldn’t have tried any harder, but wecould have tried something different. And now I’m stuck, boyfriend-less, childless, alone.

While my sister gets it all.

The green, angry man is back on my shoulder, and it makes me want to throw up all the fancy wine and food I had at lunch. It makes me want to do something stupid like throw myself on Callum’s lap again or reinstall all the dating apps on my phone. Anything to fill the void my sister becoming a mother has created.

I slam my palm against the window, cursing when I jar my wrist.

Shaking my hand, I move to head up the stairs. I trip up the first step, hurting my wrist further when I throw it against the wall to steady myself.

I’m trying to be happy for my sister, but it feels too soon. The uncomfortable blend of emotions rumbles through me until finally, I can’t hold them in. Standing outside my door, fishing my key out of my bag, it erupts out of me in waves. I have no hope of holding in the tears that flood down my cheeks, instead, I let them fall.

And I still can’t find my damned key.

I throw the contents of my bag onto the floor, searching for it. All the crap that was in there weeks ago is still there, with some extra bits of junk. Everything blurs into the grey carpet as tears continue to flood down my cheeks.

I hate myself. For adding more crap to my bag. For not getting a proper keyring like Noah said. For not leaving a key above the doorframe like Callum.

For not being able to have kids and for fooling myself into believing I didn’t want them.

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