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“You gave birth to a beautiful, healthy boy.”
My eyes scan hers, waiting for her to say more. She said boy—singular.
“And the others?”
She shakes her head as a tear rolls down her cheek. “I’m so sorry. We lost them.”
We.
There is no we.
She didn’t have triplets. I did.
I failed.
I didn’t provide a good enough home for them. I didn’t eat healthily enough. Exercise enough. Take my vitamins. Reduce my anxiety. I didn’t do enough.
I failed.
And now they are gone.
I want to scream, break things, explode into a million pieces.
My grief doesn’t allow it. My grief streams down my face in burning silent tears. Tears that pour down each cheek for each of the children I’ve lost.
My tears are the only external sign of my pain. Everything else I keep inside. The pain rages through my veins like branding fire until my heart can’t pump the agony through any longer. It flees from my body to go with my children. I no longer have a heart. A soul. A purpose.
I’m nothing.
I know the woman is hugging me, trying to comfort me, but I don’t feel her arms. I’m numb. I feel nothing anymore. I doubt I will ever feel anything ever again.
“The couple is here to adopt the boy,” she says. Those words get through the pain.
She waits; I don’t say anything.
“There is still time. You can still keep him. You’d make a great mother.”
“No, I’d make a terrible mother.” Even if I wouldn’t, I won’t bring a child into my world. He’d end up dead just like my other two children.
“Do you want to hold him before…?” she trails off.
I shake my head.
“Dear, I really think you’ll regret not meeting him before you give him up.”
My tears stop, and I push back out of her arms as the pain settles into my body. I might as well get used to it. This is my life now—an all-consuming amount of loss. Everywhere I go, I’ll feel it. Nothing will take the pain away. Nothing.
“No! I don’t want to hold him. I killed them! It’s my fault they are dead. If I hold him, I’ll just end up killing him too!”
I notice someone at the door, but then he’s gone as soon as I get a glance. A lock of blonde hair is all I see as he walks away from me.
Good riddance.
He’s the only one who could ease my pain right now. The only boy who would know the exact words to say. The only boy who could love me. And he can’t do that—loving me is dangerous.
Plus, I want to feel all the pain. I don’t want him to take it away. Not now, not ever.
That whole story was a lie.
