Picking my head up, tears freely flowing from my eyes, I look to the heavens, reiterating my plea to anyone that’s listening, “Please don’t take her.”
I’m not sure exactly how long I spend in the chapel, but it’s enough time that when I make it to the waiting room, a very young doctor, probably an intern, is asking the desk if they have seen me.
“I’m Skylar McBride. Is Mira okay?” I run to where the doctor’s standing, tapping her on the shoulder.
“Mr. McBride, she’s in recovery. You can follow me back.” Thank you, God.
Following her through all the winding hallways, we finally reach the surgical recovery wing, and eventually a few moments later, Mira’s room. The color has come back to her face and she’s peacefully sleeping.
“What happened?” I ask, needing to know why all of a sudden she was rushed in for surgery.
“It appears that Ms. Adams had a cyst on her ovary and it ruptured during her miscarriage.
We made a small incision in her lower abdomen to control the bleeding and ended up
having to remove the entire ovary. We also completed a D&C to remove the remaining
products of conception,” she says, straight faced.
Products of conception? Is that my child? I understand doctors are trained to speak in medical terms, not
becoming attached to their cases, but products of conception. That’s a terrible way to say what was left of my baby.
“Is she going to be okay without her ovary?” The little bit I know about the female reproductive system isn’t enough to give me any insight as to what kind of road we’re going to be traveling.
“Well, it’s going to be very difficult for her to become pregnant again, but not impossible. Medically speaking, she will be perfectly fine once she’s healed.”
“Okay, thank you. How long will she be out?” It’s really fucking with my head to see Mira lying in a hospital bed, unconscious. I’ve done this before and the mental toll it’s taking on me is enough to send me straight back to the chapel.
“Shouldn’t be more than a few hours. A nurse will be in to check on her vitals every once in a while. You’re more than
welcome to wait here or back in the lobby.”
“I’ll stay. Thanks again, Doctor.”
The young doctor shows a tight lipped smile and exits the room. Making myself as
comfortable as I can in the corner of the room, I pull my cell phone from my jeans.
I was so caught up in the commotion earlier, I didn’t think to call her mother. It feels like everything is happening all over
again. I just want to wake up and still be in bed with Mira at home.
“Mom?” I say when Mira’s mom answers the phone.
“Skylar, what’s wrong? Is it the baby?” she asks with a saddened tone.
“Yeah, and her, too. There were some complications and she just got out of surgery. The docs said everything
went fine, but they had to take one of her ovaries.” Resting my elbows on my knees,
I try to understand everything that happened today. We’re perfectly fine, enjoying
a night together and then out of nowhere our lives are turned upside down. If I can’t
make sense out of this, how the hell can I explain it to anyone else?
“Oh God. Okay, I’m coming down. Give me twenty minutes and I’ll be there,” she frantically
says.
“Don’t worry about it tonight. She’s gonna be out for a few more hours and I think visiting hours are over. Just come down in the morning. I’m gonna call Kylee when I hang up with you. Get some rest.”
“You worry about Mira, I’ll call Kylee. That girl won’t listen if you say to sit still, but she will for me,” she jokes, obviously trying to feel something other than terrified for her daughter.
“Alright, Mom. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”
Tossing my phone on the edge of Mira’s bed, I scoot my chair as close as possible, kicking my feet up on the end. Sleep won’t come easy, I know that. It probably would be easier to rest in the waiting room, with the recliners, but I want to be the first thing Mira sees when she wakes up … again. All the memories this is bringing back … I just don’t know what to do with myself.
Leaning over the edge of her bed, elbows resting on the comfort of the mattress and hands in my hair, I pray to the heavens that God doesn’t take my girl from me. From the second I saw her, I knew she was special and would change everything for me. And she did.
Taking her lifeless hand in mine, I softly rub my fingers over hers, kissing the tip of each, wishing she’d just wake up. I know she belongs to Danny, but there’s this connection between us that I can’t deny. Something deep within me tells me that my inclination is right; we’re meant to be. What can I do, though? Take someone so amazing from my best friend? For now, she belongs to him and me, both of us loving her unconditionally.
Placing a feather light kiss to the inside of her hand, I place it over my heart and tell her the things that I wouldn’t be able to if she were awake.
“Sweets, please don’t leave us. We love you. I can’t imagine doing this without you. You’re my best friend. You know me better than anyone else does. I need you around. I love you, Mira. Always have, always will.”
Hearing a noise at the door, I quickly turn around to find nobody there. Maybe it
was her spirit? I don’t know. Resting my head at the edge of her bed, I lie there, waiting and praying for her to come back to me.
While I’m sitting here, reliving my painful past, a groan coming from Mira jars me out of my subconscious, directing all my attention to her.
“Mira? Sweets, are you awake?” I whisper softly.
Mira
Blacking in and out of consciousness, the memories come in small chunks, not giving me the full story.
The doctor trying to resuscitate me … flash.
“I love you,” Skylar yells … flash.
Being wheeled into an operating room … flash.
“Mira. This is Doctor Sullivan. Do you know where you are?” … flash.
Terror fills my veins as the next memory attempts to shatter the shell of a woman I am today. Is it happening now or just something from my past? Please don’t let me be back at square one.
“Mira, I love you but we’re not in love, it was a dream,” Skylar says, eyes looking in my direction but focused on something that isn’t where he needs to look. I need him to look in my eyes, into my soul. If he does, then we’ll be fine. He’ll see it. The frustration is taking a toll on my body and I know I’m going to lose it.
“Well then fuck this. If what I feel is not real, if everything was just a fucking dream, call that nurse in here to give me something to put me back under. I don’t’ want to live in reality when my dream was so wonderful and I was happy. I’d never been happier in my life. You make me happy and I want to be with you. If the only way I can be with you is in a dream, push that fucking button. I want to go back to fucking sleep.” …. Flash.
Trying to wrestle myself awake, it’s proving to be a futile effort—my body is not cooperating with my brain. “Wake up!” I scream to myself.
“Who are we kidding, Mira? You can’t be mine if you’re his, and that’s what you are. His. I don’t know if I can do that to him. That kiss shook me to the core, but how can I, we, hurt him like that? He is my best friend,” Skylar says, shaking his head.
“Skylar, do you believe dreams come true? Because my dream is true. More real than anything I have ever known. All you have to do is trust that what I feel is just as real as what you feel and we’re going to be fine. We’ll figure this out, together. Please, just tell me you love me and know that I love you.”… Flash.
Oh my sweet Skylar, always putting everyone ahead of himself. How didn’t I see how amazing he was before? It’s true, everything does happen for
a reason and the reason for my accident was for me to see how much I loved Skylar.
A
nd how much he loved me.
With our eyes locked, searing into my heart, Skylar responds. I know he’s answering Danny’s question, but more importantly, he’s answering mine.
“I do,” Skylar says with a lone tear drop sliding down his face … Flash.
Fighting against everything holding me down in this haze, I force myself out of the realm of darkness and thrust myself into the light.
“Ugh,” I moan.
“Mira? Sweets, are you awake?” I can hear his voice. Is it another flash or am I back?
Fluttering my eyelids, I’m terrified to open them and be back where this all started
seven months ago. The only reprieve I have is thinking that maybe I miscarried the first baby and not the second. Maybe it’s all just a cruel joke played on me
by the fates.
Cracking one eye, then the other, it’s confirmed—I’m in the hospital and Skylar’s standing next to my bed, staring down at me.
“Hey there,” he says, smiling.
“Hi,” I croak, needing to lubricate my throat. “What happened?”
“When the doc was looking you over, you blacked out. They had to rush you in for
emergency surgery.” So it’s wasn’t a dream. I did lose the baby. Our baby. The most somber feeling comes over me, willing me to go back to sleep and try to
dream this all away.
“I’m sorry,” I muster, the tears beginning to well.
“You have nothing to be sorry for. You did nothing wrong. Mira, look at me,” he begs, taking my hand in his. I risk a glance into his crystal blues only to see his unreserved love staring back at me. “There’s nothing you could do. They said you had a cyst rupture on your ovary. It was bad. You could have died. Thankfully, they were able to remove the cyst and the ovary. You’re going to be just fine.”
“I love you,” I say, pushing down the feelings of worthlessness. What kind of man wants to marry a woman who won’t be able to give him children? If you find out, give him my number because I’m absolutely worthless as a woman.
“I love you more.” Resting his head on my shoulder, together we’re silent, mourning the loss of life from within me. While he doesn’t know it, I’m also grieving over the knowledge of knowing I’ll never be able to have children. To be a mother or feel the little kicks of a baby inside me. Having one ovary doesn’t restrict me from getting pregnant, but with my family history and multiple miscarriages I’ve had, it’s easy to see I’m a lost cause.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Mira
Three days later, I’m discharged, free to go home and resume living my life. I never thought losing something I never really had could feel so terrible. I feel like my heart’s being ripped from my chest. My bloodshot, puffy eyes haven’t had any rest since the moment I realized that I did, in fact, lose the baby that I had been carrying.
There are thousands of women every day that miscarry and I can’t figure out how they deal with this kind of tragedy. How the hell do they go on? When do you start to feel human again? Why is the universe so fucking cruel?
Ignoring all of Skylar’s pleas to have something to eat with him, I walk straight to the bedroom. Sitting on my nightstand, the beautiful picture frame Skylar got for us drives the evil, malicious point home. Knees buckling, I hit the floor hard with the cool metal clutched to my chest.
My baby.
My tear ducts, overused and worn out, refuse to let another drop fall. Instead, my body wracks violently, loud cries coming from my mouth as I kneel on the floor, doubled over at the waist.
“Mira, baby!” Skylar screams, running to the side of the bed, pulling me into his arms. “Sweets,
I know. I know.” Holding me like a child, he rocks me softly as I scream and thrash
around.
“This isn’t fair!” I yell, looking at the ceiling as if there’s a magical being up there playing puppet master and controlling all of us here on Earth.
“It’s not.” Skylar’s arms squeeze around me tighter, trying to hold me in place.
With every ounce of energy left in my spent body, I yank my arm from Skylar’s vice
grip. I throw the picture frame at the wall opposite me, flinching and howling louder
as the glass cracks and shatters everywhere. Immediately regretting my decision,
I wiggle free and jump across the bed, finding the first ultrasound picture amongst
the slivers.
Skylar stands, covering his mouth with one hand and tightening a fist with the other.
Leaning backward, I let my body free fall onto the mattress, cupping the only image
of my child against my stomach, wishing him to be back in my womb. I don’t realize that Sky left the room until he’s back with a broom and a dust pan, cleaning up the mess I’ve created.
Everything I create turns into a mess—unsalvageable.
“Your feet are bleeding,” Skylar says, going into the bathroom only to return with a rag and tweezers. “Let me see?” he asks.
“No, leave it.” I pull my foot from his grasp, finally feeling the pain radiating up my legs.
“I can’t. You’re gonna get it in there worse.” With a harsh grasp, he grips my ankle,
pulling it into his lap.
With nothing left in me to fight him, I give up, allowing him to attend to my wounds.
My external wounds anyway—there’s nothing he, or anyone, can do to fix everything
wrong with the internal damage.
Skylar gets the glass out of my feet, cleans the dried blood and bandages my cuts. Resting my head on his chest as Skylar gently places me under the covers, I thank him for being so attentive and understanding. Bringing back a pain pill the hospital prescribed, he hands it to me along with a glass of water. I’d give anything to chase the narcotic with a full rimmed glass of tequila, but I don’t think Skylar would go for that.
As the medication makes its way through my body, the hazy fog takes over, pulling me to sleep—and I let it.
Another week passes and I’ve barely left the boundaries of my bed, not wanting to
do much of anything other than stay asleep. I believe Kylee and my mom have been
by, but my company wasn’t worth a damn.
As depressed as I am, with sleeping being the only thing that I’m good at lately,
it’s getting harder and harder to do. I spend more time staring at the ceiling than
anything else. When I close my eyes, I’m tormented with visions of a little girl
or boy. It’s usually me singing some sort of lullaby to the baby, rocking in a chair
inside of the most beautiful nursery.
Skylar’s tried to drag me from bed, offering his unyielding support. He’s even gone as far as scheduling an appointment for me with a therapist to talk out my problems. I snapped on him that day, screaming about nobody being able to fix me.
He’s lost a part of him, too, but it’s obviously affecting me more than him. How can he still want to be with me? He was so excited when we found out I was pregnant. The idea of him being a father provided him with so much joy he couldn’t contain it. Now, I’m not going to be able to give that to him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s only sticking by my side out of guilt … or pity.
“Mira, you wanna get out of bed today?” Speaking of the devil, here he is, trying once again to pull me out of the despair that I’m drowning in.
“No, not really,” I say, rolling over so I don’t have to look at him.
“Okay. It’s been a week. You have to get up. Mira, please.”
“Skylar, just go. I’m sure you’re needed somewhere else.”
“Stop it,” he whispers.
“How’s Maddie doing?” If I can piss him off, he’ll leave. We went through this a few days ago and it worked like a charm. If I push hard enough, maybe he’ll get over the pity he’s showing and move on to someone who can give him his deepest desires.
“She’s in the living room.”
; “Why?” I ask, shocked that someone could be in my home and me not notice.
“She’s safe to go home. Prowler handled the problem. I told her what’s been going on here and she wanted to talk to you, so I brought her,” he says, very matter of fact.
“I don’t want to see anyone,” I murmur. The last thing I want to do is have someone
tell me they understand what I’m going through. How they know what it feels like.
“Well, that’s too damn bad,” Skylar says, throwing the blanket off me. Swiftly, he picks me up as I fight against him.
“Put me down, Skylar!” I yell, slapping him across the chest.
“Nope.” He continues carrying me until we’re in the bathroom and he deposits me in the shower.
Turning on the ice cold spray, he blocks my path from running away. “Knock it off.”
He struggles to pull my shirt over my head, but my arms are locked at my sides.
“Dammit, Skylar, let me go.” I continue to wrestle as the water turns warm. To my surprise, Skylar
climbs in the tub with me, pulling me to his chest and puts me under the stream.
“Let it go!” he screams, pulling the collar of my shirt until it rips. The same happens with my shorts; shreds of cotton lying soaking wet on the bottom of the shower.
I finally let go. Once again, letting my sobs tear through my body—I scream, cry
and slap the tiled walls with my anger and frustration.
“That’s it. Let it all go,” he mumbles in my hair, rubbing my back.
“Oh God,” I cry, wanting the water to wash away my sorrow. Skylar grabs a washrag,
soaps it up and immediately starts washing my body, all the while he’s fully dressed.
I take the cloth from him, scrubbing at my skin that hasn’t been washed in over a
week until it’s a bright pink. Skylar takes the shampoo and begins massaging my scalp.
The embarrassment of my extra oily and limp hair is taken over by the feeling of compassion
he’s showing me.
As I’m rinsing my hair, Skylar takes the opportunity to strip down naked and quickly wash himself. Switching places so he can be under the spray, I glance down at my stomach that
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