“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was confused, hurt, and ashamed of myself for putting you in that position. You were perfect, and I loved you with everything I had. The last thing I wanted was to back you into a corner and make you choose between your family and me. And that’s what would have happened. You would have unleashed fury on them to protect me. Instead of telling you, I tried to deal with it myself. Every day, my anxiety grew to new levels. I cried a lot, thinking again the baby was one huge mistake. Then I hated myself for thinking that way about something I loved so much that you gave me. It consumed me. My brain never shut down. It was all I could do to put on a brave face while trying to figure out how to deal. No one knew what was happening with me until it was too late.”
She draws in a deep breath, her eyes scanning around the room and landing on the refrigerator. Her mind is a thousand miles away, and she’s battling something big. When she turns back, I fight the urge to go her and yank her into my arms to erase the torture she’s living in.
“As always, you were perfect during the ordeal. Even though you were devastated, you put me first. I couldn’t deal with it. I couldn’t look you in the eye every day, knowing I’d killed our baby. The guilt and shame were constantly clashing with the pain and sorrow. Because, when it was all said and done, I realized I wanted that baby. It didn’t matter what your family thought, or if you ever married me, because I was meant to be a mom. The problem is, I figured that out too late. Then the hormones and never-ending emotions kicked into overdrive. You thought I was in a catatonic state because of the loss, but it was much more. There was no reasoning with me. I was convinced you’d find out and hate me. That added too much to my already fragile state, and I broke. I wouldn’t say I was suicidal, but I was seriously unstable. My mom picked up on it and forced me to tell her what was happening. When she heard my story, she knew I needed help. I was already pushing you away and hated it. You’d been a rock of strength even in your own form of pain. I couldn’t let myself bring you down to my level, so I picked a huge fight with you, giving you no choice but to break up with me. Then I left for Charlotte, where I went into counseling for severe depression.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, Darby. Why in the hell didn’t anyone tell me?”
“It wasn’t malicious. It was on the recommendation of one of my counselors to work on me, and she was scared that, if you knew, I’d be more apt to worry about you.”
“That’s goddammed fucking bullshit, and you know it! I deserved to know. I was dying here, and no one thought to put me out of my misery? I’d have supported you. Hell, I’d have moved there myself to get you through each day.”
She gives me a sad smile. “Always my hero, and that’s why I couldn’t tell you. You would have surrounded me with your protection and love, sheltering me from all the hurt.”
“Is that so awful?”
“Of course not, but I had a very screwed up sense of reality. I went into a self-imposed exile, living a nightmare, but determined to rise up. It’s not unusual for women who experience a miscarriage to delve into a depressive state, but my circumstances were different. During my time away, I also met with a gynecologist several times and forced myself to ask the hard questions. Since I was convinced I caused the miscarriage, it was important for me to know if children would be possible in our future. As you can imagine, she thought I was a bit loopy, but humored me. Turns out, physically, I’m fine. Slowly, things got better, and the state of my emotions evened out. It was time to come home, to beg for your forgiveness and hope you’d cloak me back in that protective armor.”
Jesus, Jesus, Jesus… Fuck me. I swallow the bile rising in my throat, knowing exactly what’s coming next.
“Then Evin showed up, unannounced, and my world crashed again, this time taking me to a place darker than I imagined. I barely thought about losing our son because the loss of you was greater.”
“Son?”
“That was my surprise for you. I’d been antsy about finding out the sex early, so when I heard my sonographer was being shadowed with an intern, I volunteered for them to use me. It was too early to be one hundred percent accurate, but we gave it a shot.”