Forever with You

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

  I flipped on the light with a shaky hand. Not a minute later, the pain struck again. The cramp was severe, causing my body to jerk in reflex, and before it eased off, there was a sudden wet feeling.

  This wasn’t normal.

  My stomach dropped as I jerked the comforter off the bed and stumbled to my feet. The cramping hit again. It was like my entire stomach was inside of a fist that was squeezing and squeezing, and as soon as it lessened, it fisted again.

  Turning around, I reached for my phone as my gaze fell along the bed. My heart stuttered. Panic exploded as I stared down at the mattress. “Oh my God.”

  There was blood on the sheets.

  Chapter 27

  The bright lights of the emergency room were harsh, leaving no space to hide from the reality of the situation. All I could do was stare up at those lights until halos formed around them.

  Lying on the uncomfortable mattress while the nurse fixed the hospital gown and the thin, heated blanket, I didn’t say anything as the doctor wheeled away from the end of the bed, the snapping elastic sound of her tugging off latex gloves cracking like thunder. Water was turned on. I wasn’t waiting for her to speak, because I already knew what she was going to say.

  I didn’t remember driving to the hospital, which probably meant I shouldn’t have driven myself, but I did remember all the bright red blood that had soaked my pajama bottoms, and the bright red blood that started to bleed through the sweats I’d changed into. I remembered the clots when I sat down on the toilet, and I remembered . . .

  I bit down on my lip as the cramping returned. My hand curled along the top of the blanket. The nurse’s shadow fell over me and her cool hand covered mine. I wanted to pull my hand away. I didn’t want her or anyone touching me right now, but I didn’t move.

  “Ms. Keith?”

  My gaze drifted to the doctor. She looked young. Like she could be my age. Her brow creased as she pushed the stool over to the bed, near my waist, and sat down. Her serious gaze met mine. Her gaze reminded me of the ultrasound technician who’d been in the tiny curtained off room before the doctor. That nurse had introduced himself, but once he started moving the handle around, he stopped looking at me. When he left the room, I hadn’t even known if he had spoken. I thought he did. And I thought those words might’ve been meaningless.

  “I’m sorry,” the doctor said.

  I inhaled through my nose as I shifted my attention to the ceiling again. My jaw ached from how tight I was clenching it, but I couldn’t force it to let up. The doctor—­what was her name? Williams? Williamson?—­was talking again, and I missed some of it.

  “ . . . the ultrasound confirmed what we suspected with the symptoms you’re presenting right now,” she was saying, and I heard paper moving, as if she were flipping through a chart. “When you came in, you said you were nearing your thirteenth week?”

  My mouth was dry as I spoke. “Friday is . . . would be thirteen weeks.”

  The nurse squeezed my hand.

  “And you’ve just had your initial appointment with your OB/GYN?”

  “About a month ago,” I said.

  The papers ruffled again, and when she spoke this time, her words were slow and careful. “Based on the ultrasound and the blood tests we ordered, it appears that the fetus has already been miscarried and what is happening right now, with the bleeding—­”

  “Wait.” I wet my lips. “What do you—­what do you mean I’ve already miscarried?”

  “The ultrasound and the exam revealed there is no fetus. When you started bleeding, did you notice any large clots?” she asked.

  Of course, the clots . . . I knew that. I’d read about the warning signs on one of the various mommy board splurges, but I hadn’t thought . . .

  I hadn’t thought it would happen.

  God.

  I squeezed my eyes shut. Those clots had come when I was . . . I couldn’t even finish the thought. How had I not known it was happening at that exact moment?

  What if I had come to the hospital the very second I’d felt that pain?

  The doctor was talking again. “It’s very common at this stage in a pregnancy for the fetus to stop developing without you knowing. Sometimes it can happen days or weeks before the body starts to heal itself. That’s what’s happening right now.”

  My eyes flickered open. Had the baby been . . . gone for days? Weeks? And I didn’t even know?

  She was talking to me about options and what to expect, the follow-­up appointments I needed to make and symptoms I needed to watch for in case everything didn’t . . . didn’t come out. She was rattling off all this information, and that damn nurse was still squeezing my hand, and I wanted . . .

  I wanted my mom.

  “Why?” I asked hoarsely.

  Out of the corners of my eyes, I saw the doctor stand. “This isn’t ever easy to hear or to understand, but sometimes, there is no reason, Ms. Keith. It just happens. It doesn’t necessarily mean you won’t be able to carry a baby, but I do suggest that when you see your doctor, to talk to him or her about your concerns. . . .”

  There was no reason? No. That couldn’t make sense, could it? My thoughts whirled around the things I’d read, and yes, the logical part of me realized that the body was a crazy thing that did insane things, but I wanted a reason. Pain as sharp and as real as what was cutting across my stomach expanded in my chest. I wanted to know what I did or didn’t do—­

  The ache expanded and tears climbed up my throat, swelling in my eyes. The pregnancy hadn’t been planned, but I’d wanted it. And Nick hadn’t expected it, but he wanted it. We were going to make the best out of it, and within a few short weeks we were going to try to find out the gender. The hurting welled up, burning through every cell. And if the baby had been a boy, we—­

  I cut those thoughts off, and I shut it down, all of it down. Locked myself right up. Pushed all of it down, because I couldn’t . . . couldn’t deal with this right now. I just couldn’t.

  “Do you have anyone you can call?” the nurse asked.

  “What?” I looked at her, and realized that the doctor wasn’t in the room anymore. It was just us. When had she left? A cramp seized up my insides, and I fought the urge to roll onto my side.

  Sympathy poured out of the nurse’s expression. “I asked if you have someone you can call?”

  Yes. That was what my head said over and over again. Yes. There were ­people to call. There was a person to call, but that wasn’t what I did.

  I didn’t even know why.

  That’s just not what I did.

  Per the doctor’s suggestion, I called off work early the following morning, and with her excuse, I was able to take the rest of the week off. I told Deanna that I had the flu, but if Marcus needed anything worked on immediately, I could do it from home. All he needed to do was call or e-­mail. After what had gone down yesterday with Rick, I wasn’t sure how Marcus would feel about me missing work, but I didn’t have any choice.

  It was a very smart idea not to attempt to go to work like nothing had happened. The cramps and the bleeding were like nothing I’d ever experienced before. For a good hour after I spoke to Deanna, I was curled up on the couch, my hands flattened against my stomach and my knees curled up after I changed the sheets on the bed, removing whatever traces of the . . . incident that I could.

  I didn’t think about anything.

  Nothing.

  Hours ticked by, and any moment my brain started to drift toward what was happening, I quickly forced my attention to the TV. Around lunch my phone went off, and pressure clamped around my chest. It was Nick.

  I froze, a second away from answering it. What . . . what was I going to tell him? Then I reached for the phone and, sitting up, brought it close to my chest and closed my eyes. God, he’d already lost so much in life, and he was going to be so disappointed, and I—­


  Without answering the call, I dropped the phone on the couch and pressed my palms against my forehead. “Stop it.”

  I knew there was nothing I could do about any of this. It had already happened. Lurching to my feet, I went to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. I passed the fridge and stumbled to a halt.

  Held up with the corny heart-­shaped magnet was the sonogram. For a moment I was simply stuck right there, not moving, barely breathing as I stared at the picture. If the doctor hadn’t pointed out the baby, I wouldn’t have been able to find it. The baby had been so incredibly small, the size of a raspberry.

  Was this some kind of punishment since I . . . since I hadn’t wanted to be pregnant? Like some kind of cosmic karma since it hadn’t been planned, and I had freaked out so much in the beginning? Worrying about not being able to travel the world and stupid, pointless shit like that?

  Pressure returned to my chest, and I snapped forward, yanking the photo off the fridge.

  I wanted this to be over with.

  I hurried back to the bedroom, ignoring the cramping in my stomach as I stepped into my closet, shoving the picture between two shoe boxes. I walked back to the living room and picked up my phone.

  Mom answered on the third ring. “Hey honey.”

  “Hi.” My fingers curled around the phone. “Are you busy?”

  “Of course not,” she replied with a little laugh. “Aren’t you at work?”

  I started pacing. “No. I have today and Friday off, because I’m not feeling very well.”

  “Oh no.” There was a pause and I could hear Loki barking in the background. Mom shushed the dog. “What’s wrong? Is it the baby?”

  Is it the baby?

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I drew in a shallow breath. “Um, I . . .” The words were unbelievably hard to say. “I had a really weird pain last night in my stomach, but it went away. I thought it was something I ate, so I went to bed.”

  “Oh,” Mom whispered into the phone, and I thought . . . I thought she already knew. “Oh, honey.”

  I pressed my hand on my stomach, just below the navel. “I went back to sleep. I probably shouldn’t have done that. I just didn’t think that something was wrong, but I woke up a ­couple of hours later, and it was . . . I was cramping and stuff. I went to the hospital.” I opened my eyes and started pacing again. “The doctor said that the ba—­ That it probably stopped developing. That could’ve happened weeks ago, I guess. I don’t know.”

  “Honey,” Mom choked out. “I’m so, so sorry. Are you—­?”

  “I’m fine,” I cut in, wrapping one arm over my waist. “I’m actually okay.”

  “Honey—­”

  “I’m fine. I’m just going to take today and tomorrow off, then use the weekend to relax, but I’m okay. I told work I had the flu. I guess it was a good thing that I hadn’t told them before. I mean, this was probably a blessing in disguise, right?” I was rambling at this point but I couldn’t stop myself. “Something was wrong and this . . . these things happen.”

  There was a pause, and then Mom said, “I’m going to come up there. I’m going to pack Loki in the carrier and we’re going to come up there and—­”

  “That’s not necessary. I’m okay and there’s nothing that anyone can do,” I told her. “I just need to spend the next ­couple of days relaxing.”

  “But—­”

  “Mom, I’m okay. I promise. You don’t need to come up here. Okay? I’ll see you at Christmas.”

  She didn’t reply immediately. “If you change your mind, I’m just a phone call away, okay?”

  “Okay,” I murmured.

  “How is Nick handling it?” she asked.

  My chest squeezed as I forced out the words. “I haven’t told him yet.”

  Silence.

  “I . . . it just happened, and he was at work, so I drove myself to the hospital last night.”

  “Stephanie,” she sighed wearily.

  My knuckles ached. “I’m going to get off here, okay? I’ll call you later.”

  I all but hung up on her, and I felt crappy for rushing off the phone, but I didn’t want to say anything that would propel her to ignore my request for her not to come, and I didn’t want to talk about it anymore, because I knew I was going to have to talk about it again.

  Glancing at the clock, I knew I had time to talk to Nick before he went to work. Part of me wanted to chicken out and call him, because seeing him face-­to-­face wasn’t something I was sure I could do.

  But this wasn’t the kind of conversation you had on the phone.

  I texted him, asking if he could stop by. After a ­couple of texts back and forth—­Nick wondering why I was home, and me making being vague an art form—­he said he was on his way. Sitting in the chair by the small table, I waited as knots built in my stomach. The cramping wasn’t so bad now, but every so often it felt like someone shoved a knife into my midsection. Part of me welcomed that pain, because I could focus on it.

  When Nick showed up, not nearly enough time had passed. First look at him told me why. Wearing nylon sweaters and a thermal under his jacket, he’d been at the gym. His hair was adorably messy.

  He took one look at my pale face and his hand tightened around the edge of his motorcycle helmet. “You’re sick. That’s why you’re home.” Putting the helmet on the table, he turned to me.

  I stepped back, out of arm’s reach. “I’m not sick. Not really. Um . . .” Avoiding his concerned gaze, I turned around and ran my hands through my hair. The limp strands tangled in my fingers. “I needed to talk to you.”

  “I’m here.” His hands brushed along my back, and I sidestepped him. “What’s going on, Stephanie?”

  Walking to the couch, I sat on the edge. Since I’d already told my mom, it was easier to get the words out this time, maybe too easy. “I . . . I lost it.”

  “What?” Nick moved closer.

  “The baby,” I said, staring at my hands—­my fingers. “I miscarried. I don’t know why. It happened last night. I didn’t even know it was happening at first. I thought it was just stomach pains. That was stupid.” I glanced up to find Nick standing near the couch, still as a statue. “I don’t know if it was something I did or didn’t do, but I’m not . . . pregnant anymore.”

  Nick’s expression tensed as he closed his eyes. His hand lifted and he shoved his fingers through his hair. “Stephanie . . .”

  My name was harsh-­sounding on his tongue, and I cast my gaze back to my hands. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  “What?” The burst of that one word drew my attention. He was staring at me. “Babe, you have nothing to apologize for.” One step brought him to where I sat, and he was crouched in front of me, his hands wrapped around mine, and I thought of the nurse holding my hand last night. “God, Stephanie, don’t apologize. Don’t—­”

  “I know you’re disappointed. You didn’t think you’d have a . . . well, I know you wanted this.”

  His gaze searched mine. “I know you wanted this, too, but this . . . it happens. God.” His head bowed as he brought our joined hands to his forehead. “Fuck. I don’t know what to say.”

  The breath I drew in was shaky. I didn’t know what to say either. His shoulders tensed and then he lifted his head. Those extraordinary eyes were bright, too bright, and my heart broke.

  “Okay. All right.” He inhaled deeply. “Do we need to go to the hospital? I can—­”

  “I already went to the hospital.”

  Nick’s lips slowly parted as he stared at me, his eyes widening.

  “There’s nothing else that can be done at this point. I mean, not right now. I’ll make a follow-­up appointment to make sure everything is okay, but nothing needs to be done right now.” That was the truth, and I didn’t need to tell him all the . . . other details of what was happening. “You don’t need to take off work or
anything. I’m just going to be . . . uh, relaxing . . .” I swallowed thickly. “ . . . until Monday.”

  He let go of my hands. “When . . . when did this happen?”

  “Last night.” Hadn’t I said that? I couldn’t remember.

  Nick placed his hands on his thighs. “And you went to the hospital last night?”

  I nodded as I smoothed my hands over my legs.

  “Why didn’t you call me?”

  His face blurred a little as I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

  There was a pause. “Come again?”

  Why hadn’t I called him? He should’ve been the first person I called. Granted, I’d panicked when I went to the hospital, but I should’ve called him once I was there or when the nurse had asked. I still didn’t even know why I hadn’t. I pressed my fingers to my temples and shook my head. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

  “Bother me? Are you . . . ?” He rose suddenly, taking a step back. His hand went through his hair again. “Okay. Why would you even think that?”

  I shook my head.

  Nick stepped to the side, his hands settling on his waist. “Is this a real conversation we’re having?”

  I squeezed my eyes shut. “I didn’t . . .”

  “You didn’t what?”

  I hadn’t wanted to disappoint him, because he’d lost so much. I hadn’t wanted to hurt him, because he’d already been hurt enough. And I didn’t know how to handle any of this—­the baby, being in a relationship, losing the baby and Nick. I didn’t know how to do this, and I had done it wrong, so wrong.

  And as I lifted my gaze to him, I knew they weren’t the only reasons. I’d fallen for Nick, fallen so deep, and this baby was what had brought us together—­was what stuck us together, and now that wasn’t there. He’d never said he’d loved me. No plans for the future were made that hadn’t included the baby. What were we without what brought us together?