Page 187 of Not Another Yesterday
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jen and Bobby step toward the bed, but they stop short. They keep their distance, giving us a pocket of quiet. She’s their daughter, but this loss belongs to both of us.
“Hi,” she whispers, her voice barely there. But she’s awake. She’s here. She’s alive.
“How are you feeling?” I ask gently.
“Tired…” Her face twists with pain. “And empty. Am I still pregnant?”
Her voice is already breaking. She knows the answer instinctively. Her body knows.
I shake my head, squeezing her hand more tightly. Her tears spill immediately.
“I lost our baby,” she cries, dissolving into sobs.
I move without thinking, shifting from the chair to the edge of the bed, wrapping her in my arms.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” I whisper, my own grief surging violently as hers collides with mine. The pain is too big for one body. So we hold it together.
“I lost our baby,” she sobs again, her whole body shaking. “I couldn’t keep it safe.”
“No, baby. No,” I rasp, forcing the words through clenched teeth. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not your fault.”
“I didn’t even get to see it… I don’t even know if it was a boy or a girl,” she chokes out.
I inhale shakily, then meet her eyes. “It was a boy.” My voice fractures. “He was beautiful, baby.”
She cries harder. I hear the quiet sobs behind us—Jen, leaning against Bobby, and Penny wrapped in my dad’s arms. But all I can focus on is Cat.
“I knew it was a boy,” she weeps. “I felt it.”
“Yeah. You did.” I kiss her hair and pull her against me, just trying to keep her from falling apart completely, holding the last pieces of her heart together.
“It hurts so much, Ran,” she whispers. Her pain is so sharp, so real, I swear I feel it in my own chest like a blade. “Please… make it stop.”
I just about lose it then and there.
“I’m trying, baby,” I whisper, my voice thick. “I’m trying. I love you so much.”
I wish I could take it all from her—the ache, the fear, the unbearable weight. But all I can do is hold her while she cries. For minutes. For what feels like hours. I speak to her in quiet fragments, telling her it’s going to be okay even if we don’t believe it yet.
Eventually, her sobs soften. Her face slackens, what little energy she had in her drained for now. I ease her back against her pillow and she slips into sleep almost immediately. I thank the heavens for it. Sometimes sleep is the best medicine, the best way to shut off the pain. At least temporarily.
Gently, I slide my hand out of hers, then turn around to face our parents.
“Can you… can you guys stay with Cat for a bit?” My voice catches. “I need a minute.”
“Of course,” Jen says, giving me a quick squeeze before she moves to take my place beside her daughter.
“Ran, are you—” my dad starts, but I hold up a hand to cut him off. I already feel the pressure rising behind my eyes, in my throat.
If he asks me how I’m doing, if he tries to pull me into a hug, I’ll break apart. Right here. Right now.
“I’m alright, Dad. I just need some air,” I say quickly. Then I bolt out the door, down the stairs, and into the sweltering New York summer heat.
And it all comes crashing out of me.
The fear of losing Cat.
The loss of our baby… our son.
