Page 1 of Blue Norther
Violet
NINE YEARS AGO…
The sun was so damn hot it felt like I’d rubbed the jalapeños I was growing on our back porch right across my skin. But I wouldn’t move. I couldn’t. This chair, this singular spot on our property, had become the one place I could turn off my mind and just… ignore the pain. Ignore the heartbreaking numbness of going through another loss.
My husband, Colt, had been a rock through everything. Of course he was; I married the best man in the world. Which was why I knew he was inside, but not working on finishing the drywall in the laundry room like he said. No. He was cleaning the bathroom so that I could sit in our shower. He’d pretend not to hear me crying for ten or fifteen minutes, and then he’d come in and hold me. Just like the first time I’d lost a pregnancy. And the second. And the third.
No one could give us any answers. No one could figure out why things just weren’t happening for us. We were young. Active. Colt’s mom and dad had five kids. And while my parentsonly had me, that was a personal choice, not one forced onto them by flawed biology.
No. I was the problem. Something was wrong inside ofme. Inside the eggs my body made, or maybe something in my womb. Even science and IVF hadn’t been able to help us. That’s what hurt the most. This hope I held in my heart that I was finally going to be able to tell Colt he was going to be a dad, and actually get to keep that promise.
Our first egg retrieval was a nightmare, and recovery had been more painful than I thought it was going to be. Not to mention the side effects from all the hormones I had to take. But again, Colt had been so understanding, never once getting mad at my outbursts. Never once downplaying my fears.
I wiped away the tear that escaped, finally tipping my face down and out of the sun, letting it fall into my open hands. My head felt like it was stuffed full of cotton. My body wasn’t my own. I hated it. I hated the way it had failed me, time and time again. The way it had failed my husband. Our families. Our friends. The way I had failed everyone.
Eight weeks ago, we’d transferred one of our two embryos. We chose it because the other wasn’t graded that well, and our doctor had higher hopes this one would be our golden ticket.
And for eight weeks, we were cautiously optimistic. Until I started spotting.
I knew what people would say.
Don’t give up! It’s only been a few years.
You and Colt just need to go on vacation and pretend you’re still newlyweds.
Just stop putting so much pressure on yourself. It’ll happen when it’s meant to happen.
But what those well-meaning people didn’t know was that we were once newlyweds who didn’t try to prevent pregnancy. What they didn’t have any understanding of was the number of timesColt held me while whispering reassurances that our time to be parents would come, all while I could feel our chances slipping away.
I just can’t do it anymore. I don’t want to walk past my husband every day and see the longing in his eyes. I can’t go into the nursery, the first room in the house we renovated, now sitting empty with boxes of furniture to build that I just can't find the energy to assemble. I want space, distance, from this pain I’m inflicting on everyone.
The porch door opened and I quickly ran my hands over my cheeks. It wasn’t the right time for him to see me crying. I wasn’t supposed to fall apart until I was safely hidden in the shower.
“Hey,” he said as he cleared his throat, placing his hand on my shoulder. “The bathroom is all cleaned up if you feel like taking a shower.”
My hand reached back and I wrapped my fingers around his wrist, turning my head to kiss his thumb.
“Thank you,” I managed to choke out. While I went inside, Colt stayed on the porch. From our bedroom window, I watched him—hands tucked in his jeans, his eyes sliding closed as he tipped his face towards the sun, just like I’d done. I watched his lips move, gentle words of prayers sent towards Heaven that I knew would never be answered.
I made my way into the bathroom, the shower already running and steam filling up the space. As soon as I stepped in, I turned up the heat. I wanted to feel it searing into my skin. Not to ease the painful cramps. Not to take away the way my back ached and my legs shook. But to warm the numbness that had taken hold of me. If I could wash some of it away, maybe I could convince myself to stay.
But as I sank to the floor, my tears mixing with the water pouring down over me, the numbness stayed. And I had my answer. I couldn’t. Iwouldn’t.
The shower door opened, taking some of the warmth I was so desperate to feel deep in my bones and flinging it out into the room. Colt’s body loomed over me, the normal safety and security I felt from his presence dwarfed by the weight of what I needed to tell him.
“It hurts.” I broke down, my entire body shaking.
“I wish I could take away the pain, baby. I wish I could carry it for you.”
“I can’t keep doing this,” I cried as he sat in the shower behind me. My husband’s arms wrapped tightly around me, his legs bracketing my own. With a shuddering breath, I melted into him. “I mean it. I-I can’t.”
“I know, darlin’. I know.”
“You don’t.” I couldn’t face him. This would break his heart. Break him. But only temporarily. He’d be okay in the end. He had his family. He had his job. And once he moved on from…well, me…he could find someone who would give him the one thing I’d never be able to.
“You deserve to be a dad,” I sobbed. “I’m taking that away from you. My body is stealing the chance you have for that.”
Colt’s hand lifted off me, gathering my hair and pushing it off my shoulder. He pressed a kiss to the freshly exposed skin. “I don’tneedto be a dad. You’re enough for me. This life we have together is enough.” His voice was heavy. Gravel-filled and tear stained. I felt his lips near the shell of my ear as he spoke to me, barely above a whisper. Soft, full of comfort—and fear.
