I reach for her. To fix this. To pull her into my arms and hold her. “Sugar—”
“Don’t call me that.” Then she’s gone, climbing up the ladder to the loft without another word.
Whining, Zelda paws at my pant leg.
“Fuck.” I drop my head into my hands.
DECEMBER 21ST
Hank’s bed is warm and soft.
Strike that.
Mybed is warm and soft.
I shift, burying myself further into the blankets, listening to the howl of the wind outside, the scrape of the branches against the side of the A-frame.
Finally, with a sigh, I kick tangled blankets from my legs. I pad across the chilly floor and peer over the railing, surveying the living room and kitchen below.
Hank’s gone.
For a moment, there’s a twinge of regret in my lungs, but I push out a breath. Good. After last night, we need the space.
No doubt, despite the weather, he’s out on the ranch, tending to the horses, helping Papa Blue. Quickly, I wash my face and change into jeans, a thick cable-knit sweater and fuzzy blue socks. I make the bed, pausing when I catch sight of the photo of Zelda wearing a wreath around her neck, then climb the ladder.
Downstairs, I find a full coffeepot, the red light telling me it’s still hot. I pour myself a cup and bring it to my nose, inhaling its hazelnut scent. Absentmindedly, I stare out the window where a dizzying swirl of snowflakes falls from the slate sky.
Hank’s still pissed I left.
I don’t know how to tell him that I had to.
I swallow, blinking back tears as the rabbit hole of memories sneaks up on me. My hand drifts, down, down, down to my stomach.
It’s been three years since I lost Cody, and I still haven’t gotten over it.
Losing a baby at twenty-two weeks. It wasn’t supposed to happen. The second trimester is supposed to be safe. Happy.
The doctors said it was a placental abruption. That it could have killed me along with our baby. That I should consider myself lucky. But I didn’t feel lucky. It felt like a crushing weight on my chest, in my heart.
Hank tried so hard to be strong, but he was just as devastated as I was. We’d been married for six years, but that day, in the hospital, was the first time I’d ever seen my husband cry.
After we came home from the hospital, I didn’t want to talk about it. It was all Hank wanted to do. When I wouldn’t talk, he went to Buck’s.
I loved being pregnant. I was so happy to give Hank a baby. To start our family. Then, in one moment, our little dream was gone. I was devastated. I couldn’t be around it. Couldn’tbe around Hank. Couldn’t stand the sadness, the brokenness in those beautiful eyes.
Everything hurt. Hank hurt. Our families hurt. Guilt consumed me. What-ifs took over my thoughts and I couldn’t stop tearing myself apart. What if it was my fault? What if that little slip off the ladder was what had caused me to lose Cody? What if I’d gone for an extra checkup after it happened?
The doctors swore I did everything right, but I couldn’t stop feeling like I should have protected my baby. Like I failed.
I was so scared, and I was certain I never wanted to try again.
“I don’t want to have another baby.” I gasped the words out after the doctor left my hospital room. Left me sewn up and sore and without my baby. My heart said it wasn’t a time for rash decisions, but my brain had other ideas.
Hank, sitting beside my hospital bed, tightened his grip on my hand. “It’s okay.”
“Do you?”
“Bell.” His ragged voice was a hook, tearing out my soul.
