Page 2 of Angel
Angel kills the engine. But he doesn’t move. His hands are still on the wheel, his knuckles are white, and I can see the vein in his neck pulsing. He looks like he wants to say something. Like there’s a war happening behind his eyes. I can’t handle a war right now.
“I’m gonna shower,” I say, already reaching for the door handle.
“Stevie,” he starts.
I pause but don’t look at him. I don’t trust myself if I do.
“I just need a minute.”
Silence stretches.
“Yeah,” he says finally.
Okay, but his voice sounds…smaller. Defeated.And I hate that I’m the reason for it.
Inside, the house feels too quiet and still. Like it knows. The kitchen clock ticks louder than usual. The fridge hums. Everything is normal. Which feels offensive.
I head straight to the bathroom, closing the door, I strip mechanically and step into the shower and crank the water as hot as it’ll go. Steam fills the room fast, fogging the mirror until I don’t have to see myself anymore.
The blood came fast this time. That’s what the nurse said. Like it was a small mercy and meant I wouldn’t have to wait and wonder.
I brace my hands against the tile and let the water pound over my shoulders. It’s almost painful, grounding. I slide down the wall until I’m sitting on the floor, knees pulled to my chest. No scream comes or sob that racks my body. Just a slow leak. Tears mix with steam and water and disappear down the drain like everything else has.
I don’t know how long I sit there. Long enough for the water to cool and the ache to settle deeper instead of sharper. When I finally step out, my skin is red, and my eyes are dry again.
Angel is sitting on the edge of the bed when I walk into the bedroom. Elbows on his knees. Hands clasped. He looks up at me, and the question is there, written across his face.
Are you okay?
I nod before he can ask it. He stands, crosses the room in two steps, and pulls me into his chest. I go, and I let him embrace me. His arms are tight around me. Protective. Like, he can physically shield me from what just happened.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into my hair. The words hit wrong.
“Don’t,” I say quietly.
“I just….”
“It’s not your fault.”
He exhales hard. “I know that. I just hate seein’ you hurt.”
I rest my cheek against his chest. Listen to his heartbeat.Steady, strong, and reliable.
“Me too,” I whisper.
He kisses the top of my head, and we climb into bed even though it’s barely evening. We don’t turn on the TV. We don’t talk about it; we just lie there together. His arm draped over my waist, guarding me.
He falls asleep before I do; he always does. Angel sleeps like he stands watch.Deep. Solid. Ready.I stare at the ceiling and feel something changing inside me. Not grief. Grief is soft and heavy. This is sharper.
I reach for my phone. The glow lights up the dark room, and I angle it away, so it doesn’t wake him. Search after search after search.
How to prevent miscarriage.
Best supplements for fertility.
Foods to boost progesterone.
What causes recurrent loss?
