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I hang my head.
I refuse to believe that. Sophie is strong and so is our son. I’ve felt him kick. I’ve felt how strong he is. They’ll both pull through. They’ll be okay. Sophie’s just in there getting a few stitches and a cast for a broken arm. Everything is going to be okay.
I repeat the thoughts over and over again.
The next few hours drag by, so when the doctor comes through the door and calls out Sophie’s name, I fly to my feet, dashing toward him in pure desperation. “Sophie’s my wife,” I confirm, so he can get started on the details.
The doctor’s eyes bulge out in surprise, and I realize he’s a fan, but now isn’t the time. He lets out a small cringe before he schools his features, being professional. “Sophie’s out of surgery. She’s doing okay considering her injuries. However, she will be asleep for a while longer,” he tells me. “She’ll be taken to the recovery wing within the next half an hour where you’ll be able to sit with her.”
I nod my head. While he’s told me all good things, he hasn’t said a damn thing about her injuries. “How is she?” I prompt.
He lets out a sigh. “I’m not going to sugarcoat it. She’s in a bad way. Whoever did this set out with the intention to harm her. You’ll have to prepare yourself before you see her. There is a lot of swelling and cuts to her face. Her arm was broken in two places and is currently held together with pins. She also has three broken ribs. It will be a lengthy healing process for her, but nothing she shouldn’t fully recover from,” he explains. “Internally, there was a lot of bleeding,” he adds with a different tone of voice as he places a comforting hand on my shoulder. He takes a deep breath before continuing. “There was not a lot we could do for the baby. Unfortunately, the trauma Sophie suffered was just far too great.”
“No. No,” I say, shaking my head, refusing to believe it as the grief grips hold of my chest and refuses to release me. “What are you saying? My son is dead?”
My whole world comes crashing down around me as the doctor looks at me with regret in his eyes. “I’m sorry, but yes. The baby did not survive the attack on your wife.”
I drop to my knees, my head falling into my hands.
I don’t hear a damn thing the doctor says following that. I don’t notice when Dani and Miller try to offer their condolences. I don’t even take notice as a car crash victim gets pushed through the double doors and straight through the other side. The only words I hear are when I’m told I can see my wife.
Dani and Miller stay behind despite their numerous objections, but I don’t have it in me to share this time I have with Sophie. I need to be alone with my wife, need to hold her, need to feel her hand in mine. Need to fucking tell her that our son is gone.
The nurse leads me to her room, and I’m in shock as I take in her broken body. I fall into the chair beside her bed and start sobbing as I take her unconscious hand in mine. “Who the hell did this to you?”
I could have stayed there for minutes or hours, but eventually my tears dry up. Finally coming to terms with everything, I give myself a chance to properly look her over. The doctor was right. I should have prepared myself for this, but how could I? It’s not something I ever thought I’d have to see.
Her skin is a collage of deep blues and purples, and her beautiful blonde hair is matted with dried blood, making me furious that the nurses didn’t spend more time on her. There are cuts covering her body, her arm is . . . pure devastation, and her swollen belly . . . fuck. There’s still a bump, but it’s different . . . deflated.
My heart continues to shatter with every second that passes.
I never fully understood the pain of losing a child that hadn’t been born into the world, but now I know. It’s nothing but pure agony. A feeling of complete and utter loss, a helplessness that there was nothing I could have done to protect him.
The grief claims me as I think of all the things he’s going to miss. All the experiences and adventures he won’t be able to take. The life he won’t live.
I look at my wife and realize all the things that we as parents will never be able to experience with our little boy. The fights over who’s going to change his dirty diapers, the cuts and bruises Sophie will never get to kiss better, the monsters in his closet that I won’t be able to scare away. The bath times, the tantrums, the good night stories, and teaching him to skate.
