Page 188 of Not Another Yesterday
The emotional chaos of these last few months.
All of it barrels through me like a wave I can’t outrun.
I didn’t want children. I made a big fucking deal about it. I broke up with the love of my life over it, so sure of what I didn’t want, so damn certain I was protecting both of us.
But I was wrong.
Seeing Cat pregnant, watching her carry a future that belonged to both of us, changed everything. It made me fall even more in love with her. It made mewantthe things I swore I didn’t.
I started to picture it: holding our baby in my arms, watching Cat smile at him the way she smiles at me, being a dad. I knew it wouldn’t be easy—I knew myself—but I wanted it. I wantedus.
And now it’s gone. Ripped away the second I let myself believe we could have something good, something whole.
I can’t breathe.
This helplessness, this dizzying, crushing lack of control, wraps itself around my ribs and squeezes. It’s not new. I’ve felt it all my life. But I’d started to believe I’d outrun it. After the trial, after everything, I thought maybe I could finally have a life that wasn’t just about surviving.
But right now?
Right now, I feel like the universe is laughing at me.
Like I was a fool to think it would ever let me have peace.
I rake my hands over my face, shaking, gutted, but… I’m breathing. I’m here. And so is Cat. Maybe I can’t control the universe. Maybe I never could. But I can choose what I do with what’s left. I can be there for Cat. I can keep showing up, even when it hurts. I can keep healing. Keep fighting for the life I want with the girl I love. That part? That’s still mine. And I’m not letting go.
Cat
I spend most of my time in the hospital asleep, waking only to make sure Ronan is still there. It’s like my body needs proof—his hand in mine, his gorgeous face beside me—before it lets me rest again. He never leaves, always in the same spot when I blink awake, just long enough to see him before I drift off again.
I can’t begin to describe how exhausted I am, but I guess that’s expected. My body went through labor and delivery, though I don’t remember any of it. I was unconscious—too much blood loss, they said—and everything’s a blur. I remember Ronan’s arms around me, the contractions tearing through me, how cold I felt. And then nothing.
I was pregnant one moment… and the next, I wasn’t. But there was no baby in my arms.
That aching absence is what settles deepest in my chest.
There’s a soft, hesitant knock on the door sometime later. A nurse steps inside, her presence calm, unintrusive. Ronan sits up beside me, his hand still wrapped around mine.
“Hi, Cat,” she says gently. “I’m so sorry for your loss. I wanted to ask… would you like to see your baby?”
The air goes still. My heart stutters. My stomach twists. I feel the blood drain from my face. I notice my parents shifting in the corner of the room, but I glance at Ronan, panic rising in my chest. His eyes meet mine with quiet understanding. He doesn’t pressure me. He never would.
I look back at the nurse. My mouth opens, then closes. The air in the room feels too thin.
“I…” My voice catches. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t have to decide right this second,” she says softly. “Take your time. But we’ll only be able to keep him with us a little while longer.”
Ronan squeezes my hand. “Whatever you need, baby. It’s okay. Either way.”
I swallow thickly. The idea of seeing him, holding that tiny body in my arms, memorizing a face I’ll never see again, terrifies me. A part of me aches for it. But a bigger part knows I’m not strong enough. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
“I just…” The words break out of me, heavy with guilt. “I feel like I should. Like Ihaveto. That if I don’t hold him, I’m not showing him I love him.”
Ronan’s face softens, grief in every line. He shakes his head. “Baby, you already held him. You carried our boy for almost five months. He knew you loved him. Every time you talked to him, every time you touched your belly—he knew. And… you held him after, too.”
My breath catches. I blink at him. “You… you saw him?”
He nods.
