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I lost it.
The words play on repeat in my head, over and over and over. It seems like an endless loop, and I don’t know what to do to stop it.
I lost our baby.
I run my fingers through my hair, fisting the overgrown strands and tugging at them. That feeling of tightening around my heart keeps growing, making it hard to breathe.
I lost our baby.
Letting out a frustrated huff, I grab the comforter and shove it back. The early morning light barely peeks through the curtains, but I don’t care. If I stayed one more second in this room, I was pretty sure I’d go crazy.
No, I needed to get the hell out of here.
Quickly, I put on some clothes and quietly descended the stairs, going straight for the door.
The cool early morning air makes goosebumps appear on my skin, but it’s the only relief during the long summer months, so I embrace it as I make my way to the barn. The mix of hay and animals hits me in the face the moment I open the door.The horses look up from their stalls, letting out irritated huffs at the sight of me.
Ignoring their judging stares, I push up my sleeves.
I lost it.
Gritting my teeth, I grab the shovel and get to work.
There was always something about physical labor that appealed to me. There was solace in it. You didn’t have to think about it too much. Even after years of being away, the movements came mechanically to me. It was so easy to slip back into my place like no time had passed. My muscles strain every time I lift the shovel, and beads of sweat start appearing on my forehead.
I hoped that physical labor would help get this restless energy out of me, but no matter how hard I work, I can’t get what happened out of my head.
I flew all the way to Michigan to tell you, and what did I find? Some girl standing in your doorway, dressed in your fucking shirt.
It was stupid.
Everything that had happened. All the time we could have had. All of it was lost.
And for what?
I lost our baby.
Because of me.
Because of what had happened.
Because I didn’t try harder.
Maybe if I had jumped on the plane, I could—
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
The hairs at the back of my neck prickle at the sound of my father’s deep voice. I stop mid-motion and glance over my shoulder. He’s standing in the doorway of the stall, his hands propped on his hips as he glares at me, that perpetual frown etched between his brows.
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m working.”
Shaking my head, I shift my attention to the task at hand. Seriously, there was no pleasing this man. I’m not sure why I’m surprised. He’s always been that way. No matter what I did, help or no help, stay or leave, he would have found something to bitch about.
I’m just dipping my shovel into the ground when fingers wrap around my arm, and I’m tugged back to face him.
“I can see that. Why? I thought you were here for the wedding, and then you were leaving.”
I grit my teeth, my fingers clenching around the wooden handle. “Is that what this is about? You want me to leave?”
