Page 93 of Maybe in Another Life

“I’m sorry,” I say, getting a handle on myself.

She hands me a pillow. I take it and look at her. I’m not sure I know where this is going.

“Put the pillow up to your face,” she says.

I’m starting to think Dr. Winters is nuts.

“Just do it,” she says. “Indulge me for a second.”

“OK,” I say, and put the pillow up to my face.

“Now, scream.”

I pull the pillow away from my face. “What?”

She takes the pillow in her hand and gently puts it up to my face. I take it from her. “Scream as if your life depends on it.”

I try to scream.

“C’mon, Hannah, you can do better than that.”

I try to scream again.

“Louder!” she says.

I scream.

“C’mon!”

I scream louder and louder and louder.

“Yeah!” she says.

I scream until there is no more air in my lungs, no more force in my throat. I breathe in, and I scream again.

“You can’t walk,” she says. “And you lost a baby.”

I scream.

“It’s going to be months until you fully recover,” she says.

I scream.

“Don’t hold it in. Don’t ignore it. Let it out.”

I scream and I scream and I scream.

I’m angry that I can’t walk yet. I’m angry that Dr. Winters is right to clap for me when I stand up with a walker, because standing up on my own, even with a walker, is really, really hard.

I’m angry about the pain.

And about that lady just driving away. As if I was nothing. Just kept on driving down the street while I lay there.

And I’m angry at Henry. Because he made things better, and now he’s gone. And because he made me feel stupid. Because I thought he cared about me. I thought that maybe I meant something to him.

And I’m angry that I don’t.

I’m angry that I ended up pregnant with Michael’s baby.

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