Page 5 of Infinite
“Why? You didn’t do anything wrong. It happened. We don’t always know why, but the doctors are certain it wasn’t your fault. You aren’t to blame for any of this.”
My hand moves to my stomach to touch the baby that isn’t there, and I wince. I start to move my hand and notice staples. I thought I was sore, but that was nothing compared to the new wave of anxiety that rushes over me. “What? Why is there? Did I have surgery?”
Catherine’s eyes fill with so much sorrow that I weep without even knowing why. Or maybe I do.
If there was that much blood, that much pain, there was something more than just a miscarriage.
“Ash.” She tries to control her voice, but I hear it.
“Don’t.”
I don’t want to know what happened or why I have an incision. If she tells me what I think it could be . . . I won’t . . . I won’t be able to . . . I can’t.
“Ashton, just let me say this.”
“Cat.” I need for this all to stop so I can wake up. “Catherine, please. Please don’t tell me.”
I beg for her to spare me, knowing the words she’s about to say aren’t good. They won’t be. I can see it in her eyes and hear it in her voice. She’s going to wreck my world.
“You need to know.”
I already know. I already know it was worse. I already know that the lies I told myself of trying again are gone. How much can one heart take before it gives up? “Is it all gone?”
She nods. “It was a placental abruption with severe hemorrhaging that they couldn’t stop.”
She doesn’t have to say anything else. I let out a cry so loud that three people rush into the room. My mother’s eyes are filled with tears, Gretchen’s hand is covering her mouth, and the nurse is trying hard to hide her emotions.
I don’t care that the pain in my abdomen is so intense or that I probably tore something. It pales in comparison to my heart.
Severe hemorrhaging means they couldn’t stop it. No one has to tell me that I’m hollow.
Empty.
Barren.
They took everything, even without Catherine or anyone telling me, I feel it. I will never be a mother.
The life I have always wanted was taken when they removed it from my body. With that much blood and a scar it means one thing: I had to have a hysterectomy.
“No!” I cry out as my mother and Catherine try to keep me calm. “No, no, it couldn’t be! No.” I thrash as they both talk in soft tones.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” Mom says through her tears.
“No, I can’t . . .”
“Shh,” Catherine says against my ear. “It’ll be all right.”
No it won’t. “I’ll never have a baby.” My voice is nothing but grief. My child was ripped from me. The man I love is missing. The tattered hope that I held on to a few moments ago was that maybe, in time, I could try again, but even that’s gone.
The fight is waning from me as I sob, every emotion possible consumes me as my life alters in one instant. And I realize, I’ve lost something far greater than a baby . . . I’ve lost hope.
* * *
Six more hours pass.
I don’t think or feel anything. I’m numb. Something has broken inside me that will never be fixed.
I want everyone to leave me alone.
