Page 112 of Where Broken Wings Fly

“Okay, I’m in.”

Micah clears his throat. “Where do you want me to sit?”

Covered by the carpet of fragrant bubbles, I look up at his awkward smile. “Come closer, if you want. You can talk to me.”

“Um, t-talk?” he stammers.

“Or not.”

“No, that’s fine. We can talk if that’s what you want.”

Sinking down on the floor next to the bathtub, he bands his arms around his knees. I stare into the steaming water, letting him get comfortable around me. As soon as I let my mind wander, the tears come rushing back.

I feel like I’m being battered by an unrelenting hurricane of pain. Running from it is impossible. Futile. I have to surrender to a force larger than myself and let it roll over me in destructive waves, hoping I make it out the other side.

“Willow? What’s wrong?”

“I lost it,” I sob, biting my lip. “I lost a baby I didn’t even know I was having. Why does it hurt? Why do I feel like my world is ending? I’m being so fucking stupid.”

Micah props an arm on the edge of the bath to move closer. “I don’t think you’re being stupid. You’re allowed to grieve even if you didn’t know what was growing inside of you.”

With a scream inching up my throat, I vocalise the darkest thought that’s entered my head since I woke up in hospital. “This… this baby, it was part of him.”

“Your husband?”

“Yes. So, am I supposed to be glad it’s gone? I wish I didn’t feel like my heart has been ripped out of my chest, but I do. It makes no sense.”

With his rounded chin resting on the bath’s edge, Micah tucks a chunk of wet hair behind my ear. Grabbing his hand before he can retreat, our fingers fit together.

“You’re human,” he whispers. “Being human doesn’t make sense.”

“What do you mean?”

“We mourn things that don’t exist and chase dreams that will never materialise. We cry when we’re happy and laugh when we’re sad. Our whole existence is imperfect.”

“That makes us sound ridiculous.”

The corners of his mouth crinkle into a wry smile. “Basically.”

“I never thought about having another kid, but it hurts to know that I still lost something so precious. And now… I might not get another chance.”

“Life doesn’t make sense to me most days. Losing a baby… I don’t know if it ever will make sense to you. But believe me when I tell you, you’re allowed to mourn.”

Strangled by another sob, I let myself fall apart in front of him. Micah holds my hand through every fallen tear, silently stroking my hair. Words aren’t needed. Silence offers more comfort than any reason he could give for this tragedy.

The sound of my crying echoes around us, but the others don’t intrude. I cry for the baby I’ve just lost. For myself. For Arianna and the sibling she’ll never meet. For the life it could’ve had. For the pain that created that spark of light and then cruelly snuffed it out.

Micah’s the last person I should be doing this in front of, but I feel comfortable letting him see the most twisted, broken parts of myself that can never be fixed. He knows how it feels to be ripped apart at the seams and have to piece yourself together again.

“It’s okay, Willow,” he comforts. “You’re safe with me.”

“N-Nothing about this is okay.”

“What can I do to help?”

“Would you h-hold me?”

His lips twist in another tiny smile. “Of course.”

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