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Tears come streaming down my face as the sobs begin, my chest shattering into a million tiny pieces as the overwhelming grief and loss begins to cripple me. Tank leans forward and takes my face in his big hands, desperately trying to ease my grief, but there’s nothing he can do to settle the agony tearing through my chest.
I failed. I had one job as his mother to protect him, and I failed.
How could my little boy be gone? My sweet angel, stolen from me before I’ve even held him in my arms, even given the chance to live. To fight.
My heart shatters, completely broken and falling apart. My whole world has been taken from me in the blink of an eye and I know that I will never be able to live past this. Never move on from this heart-wrenching agony. How am I supposed to go on from here? How do I live? How do I go about my day acting as though everything is okay when I’m nothing but a broken shell?
It’s my fault. I insisted on investigating Baxter, and look where that got me. Tank begged me not to, warned me that my job was too dangerous, and I didn’t listen. And now . . . my son is gone.
But it’s not just me who’s grieving. My failures and selfishness have lost Tank his only son, too. I took that from him, destroyed him. How will he ever forgive me? He thinks it was a home invasion, but when he realizes it was Christian Baxter’s thugs, he will know it was me. My fault. My carelessness. When he realizes the truth, he will hate me. And if he doesn’t, he should. The very sight of me should repulse him.
Hell, I’m repulsed by myself.
How will he ever love me again?
If only I had listened. If only I’d backed off when he asked me to. But no, I had to chase another damn story for my own selfish desires. I should have been concentrating on my son, on making sure he was developing correctly, making sure I was eating the right things, getting enough sleep, and exercising. Focusing on becoming a new mother.
But no, that will never happen now. I’ll never get the chance to be the mom I want to be, and what’s worse is that I have robbed Tank of the chance to become the father he has always craved to be. Our sweet little angel, gone.
What the hell have I done?
There’s a light rap at the door before a doctor makes his way into the room, giving me a sad smile before grabbing the chart off the end of my bed. “Ahh, good,” he says in a soothing tone. “You’re awake.”
Tank pulls back from me to allow the doctor to come forward, and he does a quick examination before jumping into a recap of my injuries. To tell the truth, I don’t hear a word he says. It means nothing to me. What does it matter anyway? I’m nothing without my son.
The doctor asks me how I’m feeling, but he doesn’t get a response. Instead, he looks at Tank for clarification, who lets the doctor know he has just told me the extent of my injuries. In other words, he already broke the news to me that I killed my baby.
The doctor gives him an understanding nod before upping my morphine and exiting the room.
Tank and I sit silently in the hospital room with my hand firmly in his, his thumb moving back and forth across the back of my hand. The morphine makes me feel sleepy, but I need to tell him first. I need to admit this was my fault and hopefully, he’ll be able to forgive me. But I know, deep in my shattered heart, that he should leave me. I’ve taken his world from him. How will we ever be the same?
He should find someone worthy of him. Someone who would be able to give him a child without risking its precious life. Someone who is content with living the housewife role that he’s always secretly wanted for me. He deserves someone who’s nothing like me.
Letting out a deep breath, I turn my gaze to his, preparing to ruin our marriage. As much as I wish it weren’t true, I just don’t see how he will ever forgive me for this. “I have to tell you something,” I whisper as the shattered pieces of my already broken heart start to quiver. I know that as the father of our child, he deserves to know every bit of truth I can offer, no matter how much it kills me.
Tank looks up at me with concern as he gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “What is it?” he asks, noticing the fear that laces my voice. He reaches forward, bushing his fingers over the side of my face, trying to wipe away my stray tears.
