Page 119 of A Moment for Us
I get to the door and pause before knocking softly in case she’s asleep. When she doesn’t answer, I push the door open and walk in.
Delia is lying on her side, facing away from me. Her long blonde hair falls down her back, shifting with her quiet sobs.
The sound of her crying takes what was left of my shriveled heart and destroys it.
“Delia?” I say quietly, and she flips around to face me. Rivers of tears flow down her cheeks, and her nose is red.
“No! No, I am not ready. I am not ready to lose you too!” She cries harder.
“Lose me?”
Her shoulders shake as tears come harder. “Ilost her this time, Josh. I did, and now you’re going to leave me too. I needed more time. I needed to prepare to go back to a life where I didn’t have you.”
I move quickly, gathering her into my arms as she sobs. “Talk to me. I don’t know what the hell is going on, and I’m not going to leave you.”
She lifts her head, sniffling hard. “I lost our little girl. There’s no heartbeat . . . she’s gone. I lost her. I lost one of the babies. Again, you lost a baby.”
I pull Delia tighter to me, holding her because it’s the only thing keeping me together. The little girl we spoke of, named, and gave a space to will never be. The loss of a child we never even knew slicing through me so hard I feel as though I’m losing everything.
But I hold it in because, right now, Delia needs me more than anything.
“You didn’t lose her.”
She sobs, clutching at me. “She’s gone.”
“It’s okay, Delia. You didn’t lose her.”
Delia’s brown eyes are filled with so much pain. “It was my job to keep her safe, and I didn’t.”
“That’s not the truth.”
She didn’t do it. I did. It was me allowing myself to think I could love something and not lose it, but I don’t say it.
“It’s how I feel. The doctor said sometimes this just happens, but I don’t get it. We were out of the danger zone. I felt fine. Tired, but fine. I didn’t bleed or have contractions. She just...she stopped being alive, and I’m fucking lost. How do I do this?”
I brush back the hair that’s stuck to her wet cheek. “You are strong. You are brave. You are an amazing woman, and you did nothing wrong.”
Her tears fall. “You have lost so much already, and I . . .”
I’ve felt pain before, loss of something I loved, but this is a hundred times worse. Losing my daughter is devastating, but seeing Delia fall apart because of it is unbearable.
“Please, baby, don’t,” I beg. “I know that you’re sad, but you didn’t do this.”
“I should’ve called you, Josh. I wanted to, but I was scared,” she admits, her hand moving to my cheek. “I was so angry at myself and at life. We were happy. We gave her a crib with pink flowers over it. I just . . . I am so sorry.”
My hands cup her face, hating the tears that continue to flow. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t there today. That you did this alone and I wasn’t here for you.” Just like last time.
“I just didn’t want it to be true.”
I bring my lips to hers, tasting the salty tears. “I wish I could make it that way. What happens now?”
She sniffles and then pulls away, lying back in the bed. “They’re making sure I don’t develop an infection on what they keep calling a fetal demise. That word . . . it’s just so . . . hard, and I can’t hear it. She’s not a fetal demise, she was our baby girl. She was going to be a person.”
I hold her hand, unsure of what to say but offering her the comfort that I can give. “She was.”
“She’s not now. They’re doing some tests to make sure the other baby is okay. I have to stop working because now I’m high risk and will be until I deliver—if I don’t lose him too.”
“Whatever we have to do, we’ll figure it out.”
