My pulse quickened, nature’s fight-or-flight finally kicking in. But I’d been in flight mode for entirely too long. There was no fight left.
I stepped into her path. “Elisabeth, please.” I wasn’t sure why I kept saying her name. I secretly hoped that it would snap her out of it, bringing her back to the reality of it all. But it was the reality that was killing us.
“I’ll take off work tomorrow,” I pleaded. “We can talk. Figure things out.”
It was selfish. Completely and utterly selfish. But that was nothing new for me.
Her chin quivered as a steady stream of tears fell from her eyes. “Promise me something, Roman.”
I would have promised her the entire fucking universe if it had made her stay one night longer. But who was I kidding?
We were over.
We both knew it.
“Anything,” I whispered, reaching down to take her hand, desperate for the connection I didn’t deserve.
“Remember to live.” Her voice caught, and a silent sob tore through her.
Cupping the back of her head, I pulled her into my chest.
“I can fix this,” I swore, but it was yet another lie. “We just need time.”
Her shoulders shook as she cried in my arms. “We…we promised. We told him we’d live for him.”
I closed my lids and clung to her tighter.
We were supposed to be fighting and screaming. That was what soon-to-be-divorced couples did. But that wasn’t us. We didn’t hate each other. Elisabeth was my soul mate on every level.
And she was paying the price for that.
Minutes later, the tears stopped and she backed out of my arms. I fought the urge to regain my hold, forcing her to stay. But her sad resolve as she hurried to the mantel and then to the door made it clear it’d be a wasted effort.
Never in a million years had I thought I’d be standing there, watching her walk away.
But, then again, I’d never expected her to have the urn of our only child cradled in her arm, either. A reminder of just how much I hadn’t been able to give her. How much I’d never be able to give her.
My past, present, and future were walking out of my life, and I stood immobile as every fiber in my being screamed for me to drop to my knees and beg her to stay.
To take her in my arms and tell her that we’d figure it out.
To reclaim my life once and for all.
But how would that have helped her?
Staying wouldn’t magically bring back her smile. Nor would it make her look at me with those bright-green eyes that made me feel as though I could conquer the world.
It wouldn’t give me back the crazy woman who argued with her whole heart and loved with her entire soul. No. Those days were gone.
I’d lost that woman somewhere in the bitterness between grief and blame.
We’d been happy once.
But we’d gotten greedy and tried to start a family.
That was her future. Not mine. Regardless how desperately I longed to give it to her…and then selfishly take it for myself.
Sex. That’s how babies are made. Children as young as elementary school are taught the simple biological facts of reproduction.
But what they never tell you is that, for one in six couples, having a baby goes a little differently.
For Elisabeth and me, it looked more like this:
Thirty-six months of crushing disappointment.
Three miscarriages.
Hundreds of tests our insurance company refused to cover because the inability to reproduce was not considered a health condition.
Countless tears.
Helplessness.
Failure.
Failure.
Failure.
Her broken heart.
My empty chest.
Thirty-seven thousand dollars we didn’t have.
In vitro fertilization.
A sperm donor.
A handful of hope.
A positive pregnancy test.
Five months of utter bliss.
Earth-shattering devastation.
A funeral for a child I would never get to see grow up.
A job that became my only reprieve from reality.
And now…losing the only woman I would ever love.
I’d always been amazed by how much punishment a heart could take. I was broken, battered, and destroyed. And yet, much to my dismay, as I watched the front door close behind her, my heart kept beating.
Two years later…
“Where are you taking me?” I laughed as Jon blindly guided me through the empty house.
His tall body pressed against my back while his callused hand covered my eyes.
“Promise me you won’t freak,” he said cautiously.
My body stiffened. “What did you do?” I fought against his grip, no longer willing to play his game.
He squeezed my hip to keep me in place then muttered, “Chill. And promise me.”
“I will make no such promises. If you have to tell me not to freak, chances are I’m going to flip.”
He chuckled. “You totally are.”
I nudged an elbow back into his ribs. “This is not funny.”
A grunt left his mouth, but it was followed by more laughter, which made it known that he disagreed.
Even with my objections, he continued to lead me through the carpeted rooms until my high heels clicked against tile.