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Of course he cares.
But just not enough.
Not enough to have married me because he fell head over heels in love with me and doesn’t know how to breathe without me by his side.
Love wasn’t there. I know it wasn’t. I thought we grew into—it doesn’t matter what I thought, what I think, what I dream or hope or fear more than anything in the dark of night.
All that matters is the fact that he married me because I was pregnant and no other reason.
Now I’m not.
An ugly sob escapes but I clamp my mouth shut and force the emotions away.
Enough tears.
Fuck the tears.
Tears don’t help.
Maybe in the middle of the night I can allow them to finally fall, but not now, not here. I need to be who I should be. Strong, resilient.
Of course the tears would come at the fact that Travis doesn’t love me, not at the loss of our baby.
I really am a monster.
If I tell him any of what I’m thinking, he’ll fight it and he’ll push gently to stay to look after me and let me heal. And then down the track it will end, gently, because he doesn’t love me.
As the doctor said, better to do it now than wait.
Same goes for me and Travis.
But I need to be smart.
I need to frame it right.
With a deep and shaking breath, my heart a million tiny pieces, my baby nothing more than cells that won’t ever live and breathe and think and feel, I go to the door and open it.
“I’m ready,” I say.
And on the other side, my life is a wreck that I can’t fix.
Funny how two weeks can change everything. Work is something I tried to face and couldn’t and they’ve been understanding. Yesterday I tried to give notice but I was told they wouldn’t look at it for a month.
That I have sick hours and vacation hours and then bereavement leave.
After that, if I still want to leave, I can.
I sit on the couch in my pristine house and stare at the boxes I have stacked up. Inside I’m sore and hurting. Not physically, the pain goes beyond that, comes from another place deep in my psyche that cuts deeper than any knife possibly could, pulls more than any injury.
I need to make a decision.
Last week it took everything I had to walk away from Travis.
Maya and Poppy, my friends, were no help.
They didn’t want to help, I amend.
I can’t see him. Not again.
