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Without another word, she turns back around and begins to quicken her steps to escape me. I don’t understand her sudden change in mood and run toward her to catch up, grabbing her arm to make her stop. I turn her around to see tears have fallen down her face.
“Hey,” I say softly, wiping the tear from her cheek. “What is it?”
She shakes her head, unable to speak. “I thought I was okay, but….”
I pull her into me, placing her head against my chest while I wrap my arms around her body to comfort her. “It’s going to be okay, whatever is bothering you.”
“You don’t understand, Will.”
She pulls back slightly, but her eyes continue to haunt me. The color has drained from her face, and the dull stare is portraying her sadness. I feel utterly helpless, unsure how to act or what to say, consumed by the need to protect her at all costs. Whenever Amelia was sad or upset, it was almost instinct to make her better again. I knew no different, still remembering the moment she was placed in my arms many moons ago and how Charlie told me just how precious she was. I was a kid, but I was old enough to understand that I never wanted her to feel hurt or pain. There was an urge to protect her no matter what.
And it still stands to this very moment.
But I’m terrified of the truth unraveling, of being the cause of her pain.
“Help me understand,” I beg of her.
Amelia takes a deep breath, closing her eyes momentarily. She falls silent, but I don’t push her and wait for her words to come at her own pace. Then, she finds the courage to finally open up to me as if there are no walls between us.
“It happened four years ago…” she begins with, unable to look me in the eye as she speaks. “Just before you left for London…”
14
AMELIA
It was never supposed to come out this way.
From the moment I miscarried all those years ago, I’d buried my grief and emotions, reminding myself it was something I had no control over. The doctor gave me statistics. Mom even reassured me it was normal, and many women experienced pregnancy loss.
I was young, unable to comprehend the magnitude of the situation, but it didn’t matter anyway, it was never meant to be, and that was that. No point dwelling on something you cannot change.
But then I saw Will with the little boy on the beach. I wasn’t sure at the beginning exactly why my legs became weak or why I was unable to breathe at a steady pace. My eyes grew hot, and then a pain rippled through my chest when I imagined what our future could have looked like.
Us, here, and our child who would have been about this age.
The grief I had suppressed all those years ago came crashing down like a vicious storm. The what if’s, the reel of future scenarios playing inside my head. Would we have been one happy family? If my father was forced to welcome a grandchild, would he have finally accepted our relationship and the burning question which tore me inside—would we have had our happily ever after?
All these questions began to onset a panic attack, and hiding my feelings became too hard when Will stood beside me without knowing the whole truth.
And then he held me, the warmest of embrace, and inside his arms, I felt stronger. I had to grant him this, release the burden, and admit what I should have all those years ago.
“It happened four years ago…” I begin with, unable to look him in the eye. “Just before you left for London….”
He motions for us to take a seat on the small bench, which is nestled amongst a bed of flowers. It’s quiet, giving us the privacy to have this conversation.
“Do you remember when we were together how I got really sick with the flu?
“Yeah.” He nods with a fixed look of concentration. “I was traveling, and you even went to the ER from memory.”
I place my hands in my pockets, unsure how to say this. How do I tell him? I’m suddenly torn once again, fighting with my morals and my ability to shut him out unfairly.
“I was pregnant.”
Will’s mouth falls open, but no words come out. With a pained expression, he finally repeats, “Pregnant?”
“Yes.”
He shakes his head, eyebrows pinching together. “But I don’t understand?”
