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“MATT...”
His subconscious heard the fear in Peta’s voice even as he struggled awake. The light was on, which had to mean morning hadn’t come yet. He squinted at her. She was holding on to the doorway, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“What is it?” he asked, alarm jabbing through his mind.
“...I’m bleeding.”
Bleeding...
At six weeks!
The next few hours were a blur of pain. Matt did his best to remain calm and comforting. The trip to the hospital and dealing with the Casualty staff was a nightmare, begging for immediate help, frantically filling out forms, waiting to hear, willing everything to be all right, fearing the worst...and Peta inconsolable when told she had miscarried.
Never had Matt felt more futile. There was nothing he could do to help. Nothing. And his own disappointment and grief cut deep. Their baby had become very real to him over the past month, with all the plans they’d made for it...their son...or daughter. Suddenly, heartbreakingly, it was not to be.
“It’s nature’s way of saying something was wrong,” Peta’s doctor said, meaning it kindly, but it only made matters worse.
Peta took it personally, as though the miscarriage was somehow her fault, though the doctor assured her it wasn’t and there was no reason not to try for another baby after she’d given her body some recovery time. She was too distraught to listen to reason. She retreated inside herself, shutting Matt out, unwilling or unable to share their loss with him.
So it continued for days afterwards. She didn’t go back to work though she insisted Matt should, more because she didn’t want him with her than any caring for his business. Not that she said it. He felt it. There was very little communication from her... no desire to reach out and touch...no sharing. She was listless, lifeless, dead inside, barely recognising Matt’s presence. Or anyone else’s.
Megan tried to talk to her. No response. Her mother came to visit. It did no good. She was wrapped in sorrow and the shield was impenetrable.
For Matt it was a very black time.
His mother sympathised but had no useful advice to offer. His secretary commented that there seemed to be a high rate of miscarriages on first pregnancies these days and put it down to a lingering hormonal imbalance from many years on the pill. Matt couldn’t repeat that to Peta. She was blaming herself as it was and there was no medical proof for Rita’s theory. Nevertheless, it was an explanation that made sense to Matt and gave him more hope that time would resolve whatever problem had occurred.
Three weeks passed and Peta’s depression did not lift. She refused to seek medical help. Attempts at offering compassion, tenderness, understanding won only blank-eyed stares. In bed, she kept so rigidly to her side, the message projected was loud and clear...leave me alone. She literally shuddered away from any caress, freezing him into isolation.
In sheer desperation one evening, Matt tried to goad her into an argument, anything to spark some life back into her. He’d cooked them dinner and persuaded her to sit down to it but the way she picked carelessly at the food felt like a further rejection of him.
“It’s not the end of the world, Peta,” he jabbed, his voice sharp with frustration.
He might not have spoken for all the awareness of him she showed. No tilt of her head. No flicker of an eyelash. Her hand idly stirred a fork around her plate and there was no discernible interruption to the movement. She had blocked him out.
Matt could feel his stress level climbing and couldn’t stop it. His heartbeat accelerated. Driven to force her into paying attention, he crashed his fist down on the table.
It startled her into looking at him.
“I said...it’s not the end of the world,” he bit out fiercely.
She wearily turned her head away.
Blood pounded through his temples, drumming the need to attack on any ground, do whatever had to be done to re-establish contact. “I thought you were a fighter, Peta,” he flung at her. “I thought if something knocked you down, you’d get up, dust yourself off, and barge straight on with living.”
No response.
“This giving up...it’s defeatist and destructive. Do you think I don’t feel the loss, too? That it’s only you...bleeding?”
For Matt, the ensuing silence stretched into unbearable tension. Their entire relationship was on the line. If she couldn’t show him some shred of humanity, there was nowhere left to go.
Finally she broke it.
“If you want a divorce, just say so,” she said in a dull, flat voice.
It was a killing stroke.
Even so, Matt fought against it. “You didn’t tell me I only had one shot at a child with you, Peta. As I recall it, we made a bargain to try for four.”
