His inability to look me in the eyes, his silence, speaks volumes. Everything about this night is ruined and cold—the dinner, the ambiance, the mood, the love I thought was stronger than this. How did I not see this before? He was always the one so sure of our future. His hopefulness had me believing that all you need is love. Turns out, now that Declan’s been given a dose of reality he’s acting like a petrified, immature little boy.
I have the sudden urge to defend myself and our child, but the tears block my voice from making its way out. It’s probably better this way. I have too many irrational things to say. Too much I will probably end up regretting.
I watch my husband as he evens out his sharp breathing, trying so hard not to erupt with what he must be holding back. He rakes his hands through his hair again, still silent. In this moment, I feel so alone.
I’d always imagined being overjoyed at the news of becoming a parent and then sharing that news with my husband. We’d talk about baby names, and colors for the nursery, call our families and friends to spread the wonderful news. Today, instead of all that joy, I’m stuck worrying about what comes next. And not in the good, nervous, expectant parent way. Instead of wondering when this baby will be born, I’m stuck worrying if this baby will be born. No! I’m keeping this baby. Whether Declan wants to be a part of his or her life or not.
As the tears finally free themselves, I get the courage to speak, “What do we do, Declan?”
He shakes his head, eyebrows arched, emulating the disappointed expression of a parent who’s been lied to. It’s belittling and it makes me cry harder. I am in this alone, but I certainly didn’t get here alone. This baby is as much his as it is mine and we have to figure this out together. Even though, for me, there isn’t much to figure out.
“I don’t know, Mia. But right now I feel like I can’t breathe.”
He walks past me, into the kitchen to retrieve his suit jacket from the chair I draped it over. He grabs his car keys from the table and leaves through the back door, turning his back on me and his unborn child.
I turn over to the bedside table to look at the clock. Three thirty in the morning. My bed is still half empty and my head is still pounding from all the crying.
I dangle my legs over the bed, unwilling to move. If I had my way I’d stay in this bed forever, but I have to pee. Yup, the pregnancy symptoms have already kicked in. Thank you, baby, for this and scaring off the love of my life.
I walk into the bathroom, dimly lit by the tiny motion-detected night light. I reach to flip the switch and that’s when I hear the sound of clanking dishes coming from downstairs.
My first instinct is to grab the aluminum bat underneath Declan’s side of the bed. We live in a good neighborhood—this can’t be a break in. Can it? But just in case it is, I ignore my screaming bladder and tip toe to the door of my bedroom to test the waters. But as I stumble in the dark to my destination, I trip on the bag of Declan’s clothes I packed when I was trying to prove a point to myself earlier. I was proving I didn’t need him and that I could do this alone. But right now, lying scared and hurt on my bedroom floor, I am proving nothing other than how helpless I am without him.
“Mia?” By the grace of God, I recognize Declan’s voice from downstairs. “Are you okay?” And now it’s getting closer.
I inch my way up from my embarrassing face plant, kicking the duffel bag aside. Partly because I’m angry at the inanimate object and everything it represents. But also out of shame—I don’t want Declan to see it and think I too gave up on us.
The bright light from the ceiling fan in our bedroom flicks on, revealing a disheveled Declan and a nice bruise forming on my bare knee. I squeeze my knee while making a wincing, hissing sound. My little trip is going to leave a not-so-little mark. And it already hurts.
“Babe, are you okay?” Declan, is down on his knees now, assessing the situation. “Are you hurt? What about the baby?”
The baby! Oh my God, I hadn’t even thought about the baby. When I try to remember the exact details of the way I fell, I can’t seem to recollect if I’d protected my stomach. Maybe Declan will get his wish after all. Now I’m angry again.
“What do you care about the baby, Declan? You made it pretty obvious that you don’t. I bet you’re happy I fell. Maybe I’ll lose it and we can pretend this night never happened.” I start to cry again, the physical pain of the fall, the emotional pain of my possible loss and the culmination of this whole disastrous night coming to a head.
“Mia, please don’t say that. I’m so sorry I made you feel that way. I was stupid. I was scared. But right now, the only thing I’m scared of is losing you and our baby.” He frames my face with his hands, wiping away my tears. “I’m sorry, baby. It was an epic mistake walking out on you tonight. I will never turn my back on you, or our baby, again. I love you more than life and I’m in this thing for the long haul.”