She knew what the loss of a child did to parents, how it could draw them closer together or tear them apart. And she’d lived it. That was what had driven her to become a therapist specializing in grief. Still, the knowing didn’t help the pain.
After she’d gotten herself together, stopped watching for Nick to come after her, stopped diving for her phone every time it made a sound, she’d worked hard to get over him. Tried in vain to convince herself what they’d had hadn’t been real, telling herself they were just a couple that had only stayed together because it was easier than breaking up. A young love divided by years apart. She didn’t believe it, not really, but sometimes it helped to pretend.
She worked one screw loose with the Allen wrench, then started on the other side, stretching her leg out to hold the bar with her foot so it wouldn’t hang. She tried using the screwdriver to remove the brackets that held the mattress in place, but she couldn’t get a good angle. She used more force, but the bed was on wheels and scooted away.
She moved it up against the wall for leverage, pushing the screwdriver with all her might, and turned. No one could say she hadn’t done a stellar job putting the thing together. The screwdriver slipped again, stripping the head even more.
The more she couldn’t get it done, the more she wanted to, needed to. Angry, frustrated tears filled her eyes, making the task a blur. She’d finally worked herself up to this point and now she couldn’t even get the damn thing apart!
* * *
THAT WAS HOW NICK found her, crouched on the floor, dark hair hiding her face. But he could hear her shuddery breathing, could see her small hands furiously working a screwdriver against the side of a baby crib.
“Mia.”
Her head jerked up. Tear-filled eyes met his. His heart broke right there. In that moment, he would have given her anything, done anything. Whatever it took, whatever he had to do to fix himself, he’d do it. Whatever she needed so that she would love him again.
“I knocked. The door was unlocked.” He didn’t have the heart to scold her for that at the moment.
“It was?” She quickly wiped her face with the back of her hand and turned to face the crib. “I must have forgotten.”
It was clear she was struggling with the tools, and when he knelt beside her, he saw the blood on her hand. “Stop.” He grabbed her wrist. “Damn it. Stop.”
“It keeps slipping.” She gestured with the screwdriver.
“I can see that.” And she’d jabbed the tip of the screwdriver down the back of one hand hard enough to break the skin. Helpless anger swelled at seeing her like this.
“It’s fine.” She tugged her hand away and went back to her task.
He’d thought about it, of course, heard her and hurt for her, but he hadn’t pictured the reality of it. A nursery with an empty crib. A rocker with no baby to rock.
“I just need to get this screw out.” Her hand shook so badly, she wasn’t even getting good screwdriver-to-screw contact. “I told Abby she could have it. She’s having twins, you know.” She swiped the back of her hand over the tears on her cheek.
He admired her, ached for her, and fought his instinct to go to her, knowing it wasn’t what she needed right now. “Why are you taking it apart?”
“It doesn’t fit through the door otherwise.”
He looked back, eyed the doorway. “Okay then. We’ll take it apart.”
She turned her back and went at another screw. “I put it together in here by myself. I can damn well take it apart. Why can’t I get it apart?” She kicked at it, and he knew a lot of the tears were out of frustration.
It struck him as incredibly sad that she’d done this alone. Put the crib together, put this room together. She wouldn’t be alone now.
The screwdriver missed its mark and, with the force behind her effort, it gouged a deep line in the dark wood. A sound of pure pain was wrenched from her throat.
“I have to take it down,” she choked. “I have to take it out. Savannah’s not here anymore. Savannah’s not here,” she repeated, still clenching the tool and every word catching in her throat.
“Okay, baby.” He went to her and covered her hands with his. “Okay. Let me help you.” Gently, he pried the screwdriver from her fingers and silently went to work while she looked on.
Afterward, Nick found a Ziploc in the kitchen and brought it back to keep all the small pieces collected. When that was done, he joined her on the floor, took her in his arms, and held her while she fell apart.
She cried against him until he thought she would break. Deep, tearing sobs shook her body, and it nearly killed him.