Page 95 of Boards & Betrayal

“It’s not,” she countered, eyes steady and unyielding.

“What the fuck would you know about it?” I snapped defensively, my frustration boiling over.

Instead of getting offended, she smiled—a knowing, almost sad smile. “Because I used to think that too,” she said softly. “But then I just… let myself love, and it’s been… difficult at times, don’t get me wrong. I recommend you don’t date your goalie.But…” She rubbed her hand on her stomach, the gesture tender and protective. “It’s everything to me. It’s my reason for all of this.”

I looked away, unable to meet her gaze. “She kept something from me,” I said finally, the words bitter on my tongue. “Something I should have known. Shit with my son has soured—it’s been sour for a long fucking time. And… Fuck. I don’t know.”

“What do you want?” Seraphina asked, her voice cutting through my bullshit.

“Excuse me?” I blinked at her, thrown off by the directness of her question.

“If you had a magic wand,” she said calmly, “what would you wave it for?”

“I…” Thoughts flashed through my mind—too fast to catch. I’d wave away the months apart. I’d wave away the miscarriage. I’d wave away Nick and Janet’s involvement. “I just want to be with her.”

“And why did she keep this secret from you?” she asked.

I pursed my lips, struggling to find the right words. “She thought she was protecting me,” I said finally, the admission heavy with regret. “She knew I’d… react.”

Seraphina’s lip twitched slightly.

“Fuck, I just… I don’t know how to deal with it,” I continued, the words spilling out of me uncontrollably now. “She was pregnant, and now she’s not, and I know that miscarriages affect women because it’s their bodies, but fuck, it fucking hurts.” My voice grew rougher with each word. “It fucking drives me into such a goddamn fury that something like that could even happen and there’s not a goddamn thing I can do about it to make it better.” My voice cracked as I finished, feeling more exposed than ever before. “And it was my child, too. My child.”

The silence that followed was heavy with shared pain and unspoken understanding.

"Am I being punished?" I asked, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. "Does God know I'd make a shitty father because I'm already a shitty father? Did He make Ally suffer because Janet had a miscarriage and... and all I fucking felt was relief? Does that make me a terrible fucking person?" My voice wavered, betraying the turmoil inside me. "And I don't know what Ally needs from me. I don't know how to help her because it happened fucking months ago, but even if it happened right the fuck now, I don't know what the fuck I'm doing. I'm a fucking man. I shouldn't be a bitch. But I... that's my kid."

Seraphina remained silent, taking it all in. Her eyes softened as she absorbed my words.

"You're allowed to mourn too, you know," she said softly.

I inhaled sharply, feeling the weight of her understanding. She looked down at her desk, gathering her thoughts.

"My sister had one," she began, her voice tinged with sorrow. "She and Negan had been trying to get pregnant for months, and when they did... Gosh, Kat was so happy. But three weeks later, just before the first appointment... Negan withdrew. He was there for Kat, but... he went to a dark place. I think it's because the focus of the experience is on the woman. We tend to forget men are suffering too."

"But it's not like my body is in pain," I argued, frustration lacing my words.

"It's not about that," she replied gently. "You have to understand, a defining factor that makes up what a woman is, is her ability to have children. Take that away without reason, and then what? It's like her own body betrays her. But for a man... it's something outside of you. You can't fix it. You can't stop it. You just have to watch the woman you love completely fall apart. And that's... that's a lot, too. You lose that hope, that sense of desire. Men want children too. You're experiencing the loss, too."

I sucked in a breath, my heart clenching with the weight of her words.

"You need to give yourself permission to grieve," Seraphina continued, her voice unwavering yet compassionate. "It's not about being strong or being weak; it's about being human."

The silence that followed was heavy with shared pain and unspoken understanding. For once in my life, I didn't have an answer or a plan—just an aching void where hope should be.

"I want to help her," I admitted quietly.

"Then be there for her," Seraphina advised softly. "Sometimes just being present is enough."

Her words settled over me like a balm, offering a sliver of clarity amidst the chaos in my mind.

As we sat there in silence, the enormity of what needed to be done began to crystallize in my mind—slowly but surely.

“Talk to her,” she said. “And get back to me. We'd love to have you here.” She stood up, extending her hand with a warm, genuine smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

I rose from my seat and took her hand, feeling the sincerity in her grip. “Thanks,” I replied, and for once, I meant it.

“I’ll walk you out,” she offered, still holding my gaze.

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