The miscarriage had devastated Emma. The once happy woman, full of life, had become nothing but a curled-up ball of misery. I shared in her sorrows, had felt the same profound sense of loss, the same pain, but I had to be strong for the both of us. I needed to mend that terrible wound that threatened to tear not only our relationships but our lives apart.
So much time, so much effort, I thought, as I stared at Emma’s peaceful face. Gently, I placed an ear against her stomach, but the baby was as asleep as she was. Eventually, I stepped away to get myself a drink of water, but when I returned, Emma’s face was full of discomfort. She stirred, and her eyes fluttered open.
“John, what’s-?”
Before she could say another word, I pressed a finger to her lips, smiling, as I gently pushed her back down.
“You need rest,” I whispered into her ear, kissing her cheek. “Everything’s going to be all right.”
She relaxed and drifted off again. Watching her, tears of joy filled my eyes. She looked so comfortable, so happy. After everything we’d been through, we would finally be a happy little family. Time truly could heal all wounds. With that, I sat down myself, and closed my eyes.
A piercing scream jolted me awake. Terror contorted Emma’s face, and her mouth was stretched open by an endless scream.
“Babe, no, calm down. It’s all right,” I whispered, pulling her into my arms.
Her eyes found mine, and she stared at me with quivering lips, her hand still clutching the blanket she’d pulled aside.
“John, what’s going on?! What’s… this?” she asked, pointing at the long line of stitches on her swollen stomach.
I smiled at her.
“It’s all right,” I repeated, as I cradled her in my arms. “He’ll be all right, too. Our baby boy’s going to be all right. I just had to put him back so he could heal. Everything will be all right, and we can finally be a happy little family.”
