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Perhaps I’m too late.
I follow her gaze, staring straight ahead into the slow-building crowd. These minutes feel like hours, the silence between us greater than the words needing to be said.
I don’t know how to start, how to beg for her to come back to me.
“A wise man once said that New York has so much noise it forces you to drown out the noise in your head,” she says in a placid tone.
“Presley…” I stumble on my words, unsure how to get through this.
“I blamed myself for the miscarriage. I was so lost that I blamed myself for everything that happened,” she says, faintly.
I place my hand on hers, the touch shooting to every inch of my body like a shot of morphine. It kills me, tears my heart to pieces, how inside her mind she feels worthless.
Her big brown eyes glimmer with watery tears, and I know she feels as if her whole world has crumbled.
She lowers her head, quiet sobs beating against her chest. “I feel like a failure… career-wise, as a mother, and a woman.”
“But you didn’t fail,” I remind her, gently. “Your career is soaring. Masen adores you, and the doctor said miscarriage is common.”
“But I failed.”
Her tears are more than just crying. It’s the kind of desolate sobbing which comes from a person drained of all hope. The sound is heartbreaking, and beside her, I feel completely helpless.
Through my own glassy eyes, I place my arms around her, allowing her to sob into my chest. The grief surges with every expelled breath, tearing the both of us to pieces in a way we never imagined experiencing together.
People around us look, but I don’t give a goddamn shit what they think. My wife is in pain, and everything she feels transfers to me.
“Look at me,” I beg of her. Her eyes meet mine, glazed and full of guilt. “I felt like I failed, too, in so many ways. But here we are, feeling like we failed, yet we both know it wasn’t us. The emotions consumed us, neither one of us have grieved. I failed you.”
“I’m sorry,” she cries, hiccupping in between. “You pushed me to take time off, you tried to get me to grieve, but I just bottled it up. I never wanted the baby because I was too caught up being selfish. I blamed you for making me pregnant. But when we lost the baby, I thought it was all my fault. Karma came back two-fold.”
I trace her cheek with the tip of my finger, wiping away her falling tears. “And I shouldn’t have pushed you to have another baby. It’s driven us apart,” I admit, my voice croaking from the raw admission.
“I want more kids, but I miss me. I miss who I used to be.”
“And Masen and me?”
“My life doesn’t exist without both of you. I just don’t know how to balance it all.”
I place her cheeks in my hands, caressing her warm skin. “I’m not perfect, but whatever you need, I’m here. For better or for worse.”
Presley rests her forehead against mine, our noses scraping against each other. We close our eyes, simultaneously, our breaths shaking as we stay in this position.
“I love you, Haden,” she says in barely more than a whisper.
“You don’t know how much I need to hear that.” I grin, squeezing her hands. “I fucking love you, Presley Cooper… sorry Malone Cooper.”
She smiles. “Just Cooper… it has a better ring to it.”
My lips brush against hers, and instantly, the world falls away. It is slow and soft, comforting in ways that words will never be. I rest my hand below her ear, caressing her cheek with my thumb as our breaths mingle. She runs her fingers up my chest, pulling me closer with her other hand until there is no space left between us.
“Let’s go,” she says, pulling me up, then lacing her hand in mine.
“Where do you want to go?”
“I have an idea.”
Twenty
