The miscarriage had devastated Emma. What had once been a happy woman, full of love, had become a curled up ball of misery and pain.
It was the same for me, back then. I, too, felt the same sense of loss, the same pain, but I knew I had to be strong, for both of us. That terrible wound that threatened to tear our relationship apart had to be mended.
It had taken a lot of time, a lot of work, but as I stared at her peacefully sleeping face now, I knew that time could heal all wounds.
Once more I gently put my hand on her stomach. So much time, so much love, but finally we were ready again.
For a moment I put my head against her stomach, listened, but I knew the baby was as asleep as she was.
I went to get myself a drink of water, but when I returned I found Emma’s face distorted. She shifted in the bed and a moment later her eyes fluttered open.
I was with her in an instant.
“John, what’s…?” she starts, but I put a finger against her lips.
With a gentle smile, I pushed her back down onto the bed.
“You should rest dear, everything will be all right,” I whispered into her ear and kissed her cheek.
She leaned back, relaxing before she drifted off again.
As I looked at her, I felt tears coming to my eyes. She looked so comfortable, so happy. Seeing her like this filled me with such bliss.
Oh, I knew, after all this, we’d finally be a happy little family.
I took another sip of water before I leaned back in the chair next to her. Love can exhaust too.
The room was quiet, the only sound that of her quiet breathing, and eventually I drifted off to sleep as well.
I jerked up when a scream cut through the room.
My eyes found Emma, my beautiful wife, but her face was distorted by terror, her mouth torn open by a perpetual scream.
“Babe, no, calm down, it’s all right, it’s all right,” I whispered as I pulled her into my arms.
Her eyes found me and she stared at me with quivering lips while her hand still clutched onto the blanket she’d pulled aside.
“John, what’s going on!? What’s… this?” she asked and pointed at the long line of stitches on her bloated stomach.
I smiled at her.
“It’s all right, Emma, it’s all right,” I whispered at her again, as I cradled her in my arms.
“He will be all right, too. Our baby boy will be all right. I just had to put him back so he could heal. Everything will be all right, and we’ll finally be a happy little family.”
