“I was thinking about something,” Sebastian states, and I glance up, wondering what’s on his mind. He’s been very attentive and is always asking if I need anything. He’s been so supportive, and he shows me every single day how happy he is about the baby. “I want to buy us a house.”
“Our apartment is plenty big for the three of us.”
“I know, but I’d like for us to have something bigger.” He glances to my stomach, as he says, “I think it’ll be good, when he or she gets older. I know how much Gabbie and Nikolai love to play outside, and I’m sure once Alexei is older he’ll be the same. I want that for our child, too.” As he looks at me, he claims, “I want to give our baby everything.”
Grinning widely, I nod, knowing exactly what he means. “Okay. We’ll start looking then.”
“Good. I’ll call a realtor and get everything set up,” he claims in an excited voice.
That’s the thing I love most about being pregnant. I’m happy all the time, and so is Sebastian. It’s so clear he’s overjoyed and ready to be a dad, and it just makes me thrilled about it. I also love how open he is about planning for not only our future, but for the future of our nugget, too.
It’s the happiest I’ve ever been in my life.
Laughing loudly, Sebastian grins, as he tries to finish telling me a story about his childhood. We’re supposed to be watching a movie, but it seems we’re way more interested in talking. I don’t mind at all, since it’s a great feeling to hear more about his past and to see him so content.
As he finishes telling the story, the timer on the oven goes off, letting us know our dinner for the night is finished. Knowing how eager I am to eat, Sebastian leans in, leaving a kiss on my lips, before he gets up. I do the same, but instead of following him, I head towards the bathroom.
Everything seems just like any other night, but as I finish, I realize tonight is instantly different. My first thought is panic, as I see the bright red blood on the tissue. My next thought is terror. Seeing blood so early on in my pregnancy isn’t a good sign, and I fear something is wrong with the baby.
Yelling out for Sebastian, he rushes into the room, and the look in his eyes makes my heart clench. “What’s wrong?”
Swallowing down the lump in my throat, I show him the tissue full of blood, as I say, “I’m bleeding.”
He’s immediately by my side, as he claims, “It’s alright. Let’s go to the emergency room just to be sure.”
I nod, and my mind is suddenly quiet, as I place a pad in my panties. My mind stays that way the entire way to the hospital, and even when our doctor checks me over. I don’t know what to think or how to even feel about what’s happening. I know bleeding during a pregnancy isn’t good, no matter how far a long you are. It’s something that every woman dreads to see, if it does show, and deep down, I know something is terribly wrong.
It’s just a sense, and even knowing this, I don’t want to admit I already know what’s happening.
I’m not sure how long we sit in the small room, after the exam is done. I don’t even remember exactly what the doctor says, once she confirms there’s no heartbeat. There is no movement at all. The baby doesn’t seem to be growing either.
The only words that play over and over in my mind is miscarriage.
My baby isn’t alive anymore, and I don’t know how to process that.
How can I be utterly and completely happy one second, and then suddenly, everything is just … over? How am I supposed to be okay after this?
In a daze, I feel Sebastian help me up off the exam table, and I barely blink, as he walks me towards the car. The entire way home, I stay in that daze. I don’t speak. I don’t do anything but breathe.
But even that’s hard.
As we pull up at our apartment complex, he reaches over and takes my hand. In a raspy voice, he states, “We’ll get through this, I promise.”
A single tear slides down my cheek, because I know he’s lying.
I’ll never be able to get through this.
The pain starts a few days later.
It wakes me in the middle of the night, and it only seems to worsen with each passing minute. Sebastian lays asleep beside me, but I can’t bear to wake him. I know he’s trying to be here for me, and offer comfort whenever he can, but I still feel utterly alone.
What’s happening is happening to me.
He can’t feel the sharp shooting pain, ripping through me. He can’t fully understand how crippling the sadness is, or how much it hurts just to think about losing our baby. I haven’t been able to talk about how much guilt I constantly feel, or how much it hurts just to look at him.
I know it’s not his fault. I know he doesn’t blame me, but every time I look into his green eyes, pain slashes through me, because I feel like I caused this. It’s my body that’s doing this, not his. It’s my body that failed, and all our plans for the future died with our baby.
I can barely form words, since the night I started bleeding. I can’t even think about losing our baby without feeling like I’m falling into a dark hole so deep that I don’t know, if I’ll ever resurface again.
So, instead of waking him just so he can watch me suffer, I curl up into a ball, and then cry softly, begging for the pain to stop. My heart already feels as if it’s shattered into a million pieces, and I don’t know how much more agony I can take. Isn’t
