“I tried to shield the baby when he knocked me down”—her face felt slightly numb and masklike—“and was kicking the shit out of me curled up on the kitchen floor. Did the best I could, but it wasn’t enough. After his fit, he slammed out of the house. I crawled to the phone, called 911, so worried for the baby. There was so much blood, and contractions were ripping me asunder. The last thing I remember is the ambulance crew strapping me onto a stretcher and starting an IV. When I regained consciousness, I was in a private hospital room. There were bouquets of expensive flowers, get-well cards, a box of chocolates from La Maison, but no baby. Phillip had brought Auntie Jane by, hoping her presence would help soften the blow.” She turned her palms upward, stared at them. Felt almost as if they belonged to someone else. But she knew they were her hands because they were empty. Would always be empty. “I knew they meant well, but it was exhausting, meaningless chatter about the weather and such. Finally, I pretended to fall asleep so they would go. After they departed, the doctor informed me that the violence of the miscarriage had caused a lot of internal damage, which resulted in uterine adhesions, synechiae. Basically, fancy words for scarring. Scarring that would prevent any new embryos from implanting.” She shrugged, attempted a light laugh, but it came out sounding more like a dry heave after one had vomited out one’s guts. “So, you’re safe. A baby won’t take root.” Her voice cracked slightly, but otherwise she’d managed to hold it together pretty well.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, and she could tell he was, could hear it in his voice, see it in his eyes.

“Me too,” she whispered. They didn’t talk anymore. There wasn’t a need to. Mick gently settled her back on the bed, retrieved the covers from the floor and pulled them over her. Then he climbed into the bed, opened his arms, and she snuggled in, her legs and arms wrapped around him tight. And they stayed like that. The past was behind them. There was only the present. Only the now. The two of them holding each other tender and sweet, their breath, their heartbeats intermingled as one.

*   *   *

Luckily, Mick and Sarah had gotten their order in the nick of time. Ten minutes later and room service would have switched from the expansive all-day dining to the truncated overnight menu.