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I couldn’t do this.
It hurt too fucking much to do this.
So I did the only thing I could: I blocked his number and deleted all the messages without opening them.
My heart sinks into my belly, and I can feel a dull kind of pain spread through my middle. I slide my hand over my stomach, willing it to settle down.
This is for the best.
Since it’s still early, the drive home is relatively quick.
Once I pull in front of my house, I check my reflection in the mirror. My face is blotchy from crying, the circles under my eyes are even darker than before I left, and my cheeks are beet red. No matter what I do, there is no hiding what had happened.
Unbuckling my seatbelt, I get out of the car. Sharp painslices through me. I bite the inside of my cheek, as I grip the door handle.
It takes me a few moments to regain my composure, but when I do, I see the front door open, and Mrs. Santiago steps out on the porch. She gives me one look, and I can see the worry in her eyes. “Rebecca? What are you doing here? You weren’t supposed to come home until tomorrow.”
I shake my head, “I’m so sorry to put this on you when you went out of your way…”
“Nonsense.” Mrs. Santiago waves me off, her arm curling around my shoulders. “What happened? Why are you crying?”
Her kindness and that familiar scent of wildflowers and sugar undoes something inside of me. I turn around, burrowing my head into the crook of her neck as I let the tears flow.
“Oh, honey…”
She rubs her hand up and down my back, whispering soft encouragements as she lets me cry. “It’s going to be okay. You’ll see. Everything will be fine.”
But she was wrong. Nothing will ever be fine again.
“C’mon, let’s get you inside. I’ll make you some tea so you can calm down and tell me what happened.”
I pull back, rubbing my forearm over my face. “I’m sorry for crying like this. I’m a mess.”
“There is nothing wrong in crying. But I swear once I get my hands on that boy…” She ushers me in front of her. “C’mon, I’ll make you— Rebecca, there is a bloody stain on your jeans.”
I blink, trying to process her words. My gaze falls, and for the first time, I notice the red stain. A very big, red stain.
“Did you get your period?”
“No.” I bite the inside of my cheek, my hand pressing against my stomach. “I can’t get my period. I’m pre—” my voice stutters as I shake my head, more tears falling down.
This couldn’t be happening.
Not now.
But it was.
Mrs. Santiago helped me change and took me to the hospital, where she held my hand, but it was pointless as the doctor confirmed it with a pitying look on her face not even an hour later.
The last connection I had to Miguel Fernandez was officially gone.
Now
“Rebecca,” Miguel’s hands land on my shoulders, giving me a little shake and snapping me out of my thoughts. “Where is our baby?”
“I lost it,” I croak out the words, that familiar ache spreading inside my chest. “I lost our baby.”
“Fucking hell,” Miguel curses.
