Page 68 of Not a Strong Enough Word

“I want to wait to tell you in person, though.”

A pause. Was she disappointed? But then she said, “Same.”

I try to fill my lungs with oxygen, to no avail. “You had news.”

She twists around in the chair so she can face me, and she presses her chest into the back of it as she nods. The position is so similar to the one she took the first time she told me she loved me that my heart aches at that memory, too.

So many memories between us. They’re almost unbearable.

“I didn’t know how you’d feel about it,” she says. “It was an accident, obviously. So I wanted to tell you in person. I was so tired. I couldn’t think.”

She had been exhausted. Every time I saw her, the purple under her eyes was more prominent. Just before she left, we had gone through her closet to donate some clothes that had gotten too big. We joked about it then, both of us too uncomfortable with the fact that she was wasting away to talk about it. I had tried to cook for her when she was home, but there was only so much I could do when she was on the road. And she always seemed to be on the road. But a few weeks before she left for New York, we had spent almost every minute together. Then one more set of interviews, and she was supposed to have months off. Trina and I protected that time off for her, even as the book club and appearance requests kept rolling in.

I was so fucking stupid. Why the hell did I think more money would have made any of that better? Of course it wouldn’t have. The love of my life was drowning in the middle of an ocean, and I sent her what I thought was a lifeboat but was actually a measly piece of wood.

And she was pregnant on top of it all.

Rubbing my aching eyes under my glasses, I huff incredulously. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“When, Ryan?” She sounds irritated. When I look at her again, her expression confirms it. “I sat in that room, actively bleeding while people talked over me. No one asked me what I wanted. No one bothered to check in with me. I had gone from a flight to a conference room with no time in between. I was still bleeding. How long was I supposed to be paraded around like a commodity? In perpetuity? Until my books stopped selling? No one was worried about anything but dollar signs.” Her eyes fill with tears again, glittering in the fading light filtering in through a crack in the curtains. “Not even you.” She whispers that last part, like it hurts her too much to say.

“I didn’t tell you to leave me.” I fight to keep my own irritation out of my voice. It seems like we’re going to have it all out right now, so I might as well say it. “You didn’t have to be alone with this. I tried calling, messaging, stopping by.”

She makes a pained noise, and her nostrils flare. “In retrospect, I know I made a huge mistake. I was young and stupid and confused as fuck. But in my defense, why the hell would you want me anymore?” Almost shouting now, she stands and leans forward, almost on her toes. “I couldn’t hack it. I blew up your deal. I got myself blacklisted from JMP. And I couldn’t even have your baby.” Her voice cracks on the last sentence, as if it can’t hold the pain anymore.

Involuntarily, I reel backward. “Is that how you think of it? That you did something wrong? That you caused it?”

Her shoulders curl into herself, and she drops her gaze to the ground. “I didn’t want it. Not at first. I didn’t see how it would fit into my life. And as soon as I started to warm up to the idea, it was over.”

I sit on the edge of the bed again with my head in my hands. She can’t think this way. I won’t allow it. “That’s not how it works,” I tell her. “You don’t cause a miscarriage by not wanting a baby.”

She gives me a half shrug, her gaze still trained on the ground. “The rest of it is still true.”

“I never cared about any of that. I only ever cared about you. Why didn’t you let me help you?”

The anguish is apparent in her eyes as they slide to meet mine. “There wasn’t anything you could do. You can’t fix everything for me, Ryan.”

Her words echo Casey’s, but somehow it hurts more coming from her. I might not be able to fix everything, but I can help. I wish she’d just let me help. Standing again, I walk to the window and throw it open. If only I could get some air, maybe I could think.

But gulping in the fresh, spring air does nothing to clear my mind. And when I turn around to face Scarlett again, hoping that seeing her face will help me find the right words to say to her, the space she had been occupying is empty.

She’s gone.

Chapter 30

Scarlett

As soon as Ryan opens the window and starts taking big, deep breaths, I know it’s my time to go. I have no idea what any of this means for us, but he deserves the space and time to process it all. I’ve had five years; he’s had about five minutes. And while I wish he had rushed to me and held me and told me that none of it mattered, deep down, I knew that was never going to happen.

If I’m being honest with myself, I buried the loss. Yes, I had talked to Dianne about it, but after the initial few meetings, we focused much more on my writing than anything else. That’s how I wanted it.

When I started writing again, I had a vague thought that if I had been able to have that baby, he or she would be in preschool. It felt fitting that I was getting back into it then. There are plenty of stories of mothers going back to work when their kids go to school. I read a lot of them in my darker, lonelier moments on the internet.

But when you didn’t actually have a kid, it gets tricky. How much time is enough to have mourned something you didn’t even know you wanted until you lost it? Was I mourning the loss of a pregnancy, or writing, or Ryan? Did I spend too much time away? Is there a time limit on these things?

Right now, it hurts so badly that it feels like even five more years wouldn’t have been enough.

I’m almost to my car when I hear a door bang open behind me. No sooner do I rest my hand on the door handle of my car than I hear Ryan’s voice, shouting.