AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Aftercare.
This isn’t anyone’s fault.
It happens.
This is the body’s way of handling an unviable pregnancy. Of removing what wasn’t meant to be.
But the slices of pain open gulfs deep in me, deeper than I’ve known before.
I can’t form words.
Travis does.
He says the things I should be saying.
He’s taking the information, listening when I can’t.
They’re discussing things and I raise a shaking hand to my cheek, and my fingers touch dry skin.
I’m not crying.
Why am I not crying?
It’s monstrous, heinous. I should be crying.
I’m a monster.
Maybe that’s why my baby died.
It knew I’m not good enough to attach another soul to. It knew I cried rivers over my own sorry state—a selfish, self-centered act. It knew I failed to make my mother love me. Knew I’m not good enough for anyone else. Knew I’m not enough to keep a man like Travis.
The world crashes into pin-bright focus. “Is—was—Is it a boy or a girl?”
Travis tenses, his arms squeezing tighter for just a moment. “Brandi, don’t—”
“Grief comes in all kinds of forms, Mr. Masterson. All of it’s right. Whatever she feels is the right thing. Brandi?”
I focus in on the doctor. There’s kindness, understanding, all the soft things I don’t want, things I don’t deserve. Things I crave and shouldn’t have.
She holds my gaze as Travis holds my hand and body. She holds it until something in me shifts and I can breathe again.
“Yes?”
“The fetus would have been a boy. The best thing is to give you a prescription drug that will help your body. What will happen is like a heavy period. Your body needs to pass the tissue. The psychological weight, the medical dangers, of continuing to carry would be too much. But…” She pauses and I’m aware of the strategically placed tissue box on the table next to where I’m sitting, half-wrapped in Travis’ arms. “It’s up to you.”
“Brandi? Anything you want to do. I’m here.”
I stare at Travis. Does he care? I can’t see anything in his eyes to tell me how he feels. They’re a little too shimmery, like tears are sitting there, tears he’s not about to spill, and I can’t breathe with him here. His smell, the heat of him borderline too much. Everything is too much.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t—
“Mr. Masterson, why don’t you and I step outside for just a second to give Brandi a moment?” My doctor is smarter than me, picking up on the panic.
For a moment I think he’s not going to move, that he’s going to fight it, her, but he nods, his entire body tensing, and then he squeezes my hand. “Whatever you want, when you want. I’m here.”
The doctor waits until he’s gone before she rises. “Brandi, this isn’t your fault. You’re healthy, young, in good shape. Up to fifty percent of pregnancies end in the first trimester, often most women just think their period’s late.”
