The doctor’s words are still ricocheting around in my head, even though I’m sure a full five minutes has passed since she spoke them in her soothing voice.
“I’m so sorry, Miss Karel. There’s no heartbeat. It appears the baby stopped growing at approximately nine weeks.”
Three weeks ago, my tiny baby left me.
I didn’t even know.
How could I not know?
And Blue, my love, never knew that a baby was waiting for him to come home. A baby that I wanted to surprise him with, in person, so we could do it right this time. Together.
A baby that he was never supposed to miss a moment of.
Gone.
Pain ripples through me and I shake my head as tears spill down my cheeks, and I hug myself, clutching my stomach.
My sobs are muffling the doctor’s voice, drowning her words as she continues to say things no mother should ever hear.
“Are you sure?” I ask desperately as the nurse helps me sit up. “I’ve been fine. Totally fine, actually. I haven’t been sick or had any cramps or bleeding or anything. I think it’s a mistake. Or maybe the baby is tiny? I’m very petite, and so is my daughter. She was just barely five pounds when she was born. At full term.” I gulp and try to catch my breath. “Can you check again?”
Dr. Powell offers me a sympathetic shake of her head, snapping off her purple latex gloves.
“I’m sorry, Piper. There’s no doubt. I know how devastating this is for you, and I’m so very sorry.”
I’m wracked with waves of nausea, lightheadedness, and an overwhelming sense of detached reality.
At home, an itty-bitty black T-shirt with Blue’s band logo on it waits for him next to the bed.
If I could just get this ridiculous paper robe off, get out of here, go home, and call Blue. I can tell him all about the baby, and none of this will be happening.
I can make it stop. I can bring him back.
It’ll all stop. Our tiny one will be safe, nestled in my womb, waiting to come into our world and wear its little T-shirt.
Blue will be so happy. He’ll tell me the baby will name itself—and I’ll believe him.
Lyric will play lullabies on her harp next to my stomach.
It’ll be a boy. I can feel that in my soul. Son of a rock legend who would follow in his daddy’s footsteps.
Another kickass kid, Blue would say with that sexy, confident, proud grin of his that turns me to jelly.
I can see our baby so clearly, so vividly.
He’s real. He can’t be gone.
If only I had begged Blue to come home, if only I had flown out to London to see him when he asked weeks ago.
If I had not kept the baby a secret, if I had let Blue—or anyone else—know this tiny life existed, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe he would have felt how loved and wanted he was by so many, and he would have stayed.
I’m admitted to the hospital for a procedure later this afternoon that will take my baby away forever.
I call Ditra, and we cry together like we’ve done many times since we were little girls, but this time is the hardest, the worst, the unimaginable.
Ditra takes control, arranging to stay at my house tonight to keep my daughter and my pets company. Tomorrow she’ll take Lyric to school, then she and Billy will come get me and my car and take me home to recover.
Honestly I don’t think I’ll ever recover from this.
How does anyone?
I should call my mother, but I don’t. I can’t. I’m not ready to talk to anyone. I refuse to share my loss with anyone else until I can talk to Blue.
I have no idea how I’ll find the words to tell him we lost our baby, and for a few moments I grasp at the idea of never telling him at all. I can protect him from this heartache, save him from more distress that will only add to everything else he’s dealing with in his life right now.
Something awful like this could send him right over the edge again, back into the seductive arms of drugs and alcohol.
Do I dare risk all that?
Yes. I have to.
I stare at the ring on my finger. We promised to love each other for all the tomorrows. No matter what. Lies and secrets will haunt us and destroy us eventually. The truth always finds a way to take on a life of its own and come out.
Taking a deep breath, I decide I’ll call him in the morning when it’s all over. My cell phone is dead in my purse, anyway, and his hotel info is saved on it. If I call him tomorrow, he won’t have to worry about me all night.
We can survive his addictions again if we have to, but I don’t think we’d ever survive deceit. I’d lose him forever. And that, I cannot and will not risk.
