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“I’ll never do that again—I swear on my honor. I mean it, Jess, because I love you.” And I knew that I really did mean it. “I haven’t done enough and I’m sorry for that and I will never stop trying to make that up to you. You mean too much to me. What do you say—how about we try this marriage again?”
“I want to try as well. Because I love you too Rafael.”
I pulled out a box. “I got this for you a couple of days before you lost the baby, but didn’t know how to give it to you.” I handed her the rectangular ivory box tied with a lilac ribbon.
She slowly opened the box, and I saw her first real smile for a long time. “They’re so pretty,” she said, lifting out a pair of shoes. They were ballet-style flats made from lilac suede, each with a small bow on the front. “I’ve never really got the hang of walking in heels. I think these will suit me much better,” she grinned, “although I’ll look much less sophisticated in them than if I wear skyscraper heels.”
“I got them because I wanted to show you that I love you exactly the way you are: your lilac obsession, your inability to wear heels without wobbling, your strength, and your being pregnant—irrespective of who the biological father was. I wanted to show you that we would bring up the baby together and that we’d be parents to him or her. It’s too late for the baby, and I’ll never stop regretting that, but I don’t want it to be too late for us. Nothing else matters except loving you and having a happy family together.” I took her into my arms and pulled her into my body, enjoying the feel of her body curling into mine.
“I love you too,” she sighed into me. “I’ve missed this.”
“Me too.” I kissed the top of her head. “I’m looking forward to starting again with you, but we’ll ease into it slowly this time around, okay?”
“Okay,” she said in her gentle voice.
“There’s no rush,” I murmured. “We’ve got all the time in the world, Jess, and I’m willing to wait for however long it takes.”
As she laid her head against my chest, I knew that this was going to work, and we were going to work.
And, at that thought, my heart soared.
EPILOGUE
ONE YEAR LATER
RAFAEL
Looking back at the last twelve months, I thought about how the miscarriage had hit Jess hard and how things had taken a long time to get better for both of us.
For the first couple of months, it had been difficult seeing Jess suffering each day. This was not an emotion I was used to dealing with. Normally, I caused pain and suffering to others, but I didn’t stick around to see the consequences.
This was different, though. She was different. She was my life now.
After a long while, we were able to talk about things and started to process everything that had happened. The baby just wasn’t meant to be, and slowly we had come to terms with that.
After the miscarriage, Jess decided to go for therapy—to talk about the attack and the loss of the baby. And it helped not only her, but me as well, since some sessions we went to as a couple.
I had never imagined that I, a Made Man, would be sitting in a therapist’s office talking about my feelings, but I would do anything for this woman and anything for our marriage.
People always said emotions were a weakness in our line of work and that it was better not to feel; however, therapy taught me that it was more of a weakness to keep your feelings suppressed. Seeing how much talking through things helped Jess made me want to talk about my own feelings too so that I could come to terms with everything as well.
I had felt so much anger after what my father had done. And I, too, felt an immense loss after the miscarriage. The baby had been part of Jess. And, before the miscarriage, I had started to think of it asmybaby—asourbaby.
Through the therapy and by talking to each other and processing our thoughts, we began to see that perhaps the miscarriage was fate’s way of telling us that the baby hadn’t been meant to be. That was the only way we could make sense of what had happened.
I told Jess that she could have all the time she needed before we started trying for a baby again. She really wanted a baby, though, and I wanted to be able to give that to her.
***
Around a year after the miscarriage, we were out one morning for our run. Jess had been more relaxed lately and had also gone back to doing yoga again.
I hadn’t been able to resist taking Jess up against the side of the stables. She was just as willing whether it was her ovulating window or not. I could never get enough of her—of the taste of her mouth or the touch of the skin.
Afterward, just as she finished pulling her clothes back into place, she clutched one hand to her stomach and the other to her mouth before dashing a few feet away and violently throwing up onto the ground.
I held her hair back as she emptied her stomach before helping her up.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I don’t know what happened there. I just suddenly felt really unwell.”
