Page 28 of Muskoka Miracle

The eyes were sparkling now with angry tears. “No, that can’t be true. You think I have. So what is it?”

He didn’t even really know anymore. He shrugged.

She leaned closer. “Talk to me, Dan. I hate this silence.”

So did he, if truth were told. “It’s just been a lot tougher than I imagined.”

“What has? Our marriage?”

He shrugged again. “The past couple of years have been tough.” Three miscarriages in eighteen months would do that.

The hard, green gaze softened slightly. “It has.”

He lowered his gaze, unable to look at her anymore. Just nodded.

“So the miscarriages, the uncertainty about your career, I get that all these things add up to frustrations, but that’s not enough to cause this much misery.”

“It’s just…”

“What?”

He clamped his lips.

“No, tell me. I want to know. Is it the podcast thing?”

“What? No. I shouldn’t have said that about followers. I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “If you want me to stop it I will. And I won’t tell anyone about what’s happened to us. Not if you don’t want me to.”

His heart broke a little more for her. “One day, maybe. I don’t want you to stop it. Because I know that what you share has been really helpful to lots of people.” He’d seen the comments, knew Sarah was ministering in a way through her words and music to a far bigger audience than even her missionary parents had ever dreamed. “You’re amazing.”

“Then what is it?”

“You never seemed to show much emotion after,” he swallowed, “after—”

“Are you seriously asking me whether I was sad about losing the baby?” She looked at him incredulously, pointing to the shower. “What did you think that was?”

A woman breaking down. And the second time he’d seen that. He pressed his lips together. How could he accuse her?

He knew how. He wasn’t coping with his emotions, didn’t know how to continue to be strong for her when it felt like all strength was lost. He didn’t know how to fake it long enough to make it. Her emotions pulled on his, and tugged him to want to help her, yet drew shamed awareness that he couldn’t, that he was drier than a desert of forty years with no rain.

“Dan, did you ever think about how I might feel?” The flash was back. “Part of my depression after Stephen’s death was knowing I’d never have kids—do you remember that? How do you think I felt when I found out I was finally pregnant—with your child? It was a dream come true! A miracle! I couldn’t believe it, it was so amazing. Here I was, married to the man of my dreams, and going to have his child.”

She swallowed, and reached out for his hand. “You saw me now, and you’ve seen me before. I’ve cried so much, especially when you weren’t here, because I didn’t want to be upsetting you even more.”

Just like he had. His grip tightened.

“I know in the past I have allowed grief to settle inside me until it became almost impossible to dislodge,” she continued. “And I knew I couldn’t allow that again this time. So I’ve tried to be conscious of connecting with God, and it’s not been easy, but it’s definitely helped, even if at times I feel like I’m dangling by a thread. But you… you don’t seem to have tried to connect with God.”

No. That was so true. “He’s been far away.”

She shook her head. “No, you have. I know, because that’s how I lived for way too long when Stephen died, blaming God for stuff.”

What could he say? It was true. He looked up, into her beautiful green eyes, tinged with a violet rim around the iris.

“Daniel, I love you so much. Please don’t shut me out.” She moved closer, wrapping her arms around him like she used to.

His arms automatically went around her. “I love you too, Princess.” He tucked the towel around her closer. “I’m really sorry,” he murmured into her damp hair. “I’m really, really sorry.”

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