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It was hard, perhaps even as hard as telling him had been.
He hadn't taken either thing well.
Who would? Who could?
We'd had a bad few days after I told him, a few miserable moments where I wasn't sure we'd make it out the other side.
Of course he resented my decision. Resented that I'd made it without him, but even he knew that that was as unfair as it was natural.
The night I'd told him is one I'd never forget. Neither of us would. It had been as horrible as I'd dreaded. As painful as I'd known it had to be.
"How could you do that? How could you do a thing like that just for spite?" he had asked when I told him, his immediate gut reaction.
I'd been expecting something like that, but I was still offended, still taken from reasonable to messy with those two sentences.
"It wasn't for spite," I told him, voice quavering in something akin to dread. This conversation could ruin us. That fact was not lost on me. "It was for survival. You were engaged to Tiffany when I found out. What was I supposed to do?"
Something awful wrote itself on his familiar features in all caps. His mouth twisted.
Shame.
"You should have told me," he gasped out. He couldn't even look at me. His eyes were aimed up at the ceiling, blinking over and over. "You should have at least told me. Jesus, how could you go through that alone?" I shook harder with every word out of his mouth. "How could you give our child away without even telling me?" He was weeping by the end.
"I didn't know how. And I thought you'd reject me. Us. I was sure you never wanted to speak to me again."
"You know, you know, that if you'd come to me, that no matter what, I'd have helped. You know that if you'd come to me, pregnant with our child, I'd have helped."
God that hurt. And I couldn't deny it. Even I, the queen of denial, couldn't choke out the words.
We were in our bedroom for the conversation, and by then we were both huddled in opposite corners, crying our eyes out, and I, for one, was wondering how the hell we'd ever get through this.
Of the two of us, Dante was by far the forgiving one. If he couldn't forgive, how could I even begin to try?
But somehow we found a way. Dante made the first move, coming to me, picking me up, and carrying me to bed. We held each other as we wept until our tears ran dry, then set about trying to heal. It would be a long journey, but if we were committed enough, I knew we could do it.
We were committed enough.
"You need to meet them," I said eventually. "When you meet her parents, you'll understand. Or at least, it will help. They were there for everything. For me and for her. Her mother was the first to hold her, her father the second. It's not possible for them to love her more."
That had comforted him, but even so, nothing could have fully braced him for the shock of meeting our daughter for the first time.
The second Mercy had her fill of hugging me, she approached Dante. She didn't seem the least intimidated by the tall, solemn man that was staring at her with eyes that matched hers.
She held up her hand in a wave like he wasn't right in front of her. "Hi. I'm Mercy."
He lowered down to his haunches and tried very hard to smile for her. "I'm Dante."
"Are you Scarlett's friend?"
"Yes. Her very best friend. I'm going to be her husband. Would you like to come to our wedding?"
She beamed at him. "Can I dress like a princess?"
He nodded, still trying to smile. It was strained, but he got an A for effort.
I had to look away and cover my mouth to keep from sobbing aloud.
"You can," he said, the words unsteady. "If it's okay with your parents, we'd love for you to be the flower girl."
