She had miscarried at 24 weeks. She knew she should say “we,” that he was in pain too, but she felt it in her body, in a way impossible for him to experience, and so it was her loss. Hers alone.
He held her hand as he sat by the bed. She was supposed to rest for three days before returning to work.
“It will be all right,” he said helplessly.
She shook her head, tears welling.
“Please don’t cry,” he said.
She reached for a tissue.
“I love you,” he said.
“Shall I heat you some soup?”
She nodded again and he left the room.
Damn it, she thought. He could have stayed and tried to comfort me. She felt the tears coming and she let them flow, knowing he was out of the room, angry at him for leaving her alone, glad he was gone.
Copyright © 2014 Loretta Miles Tollefson