41. Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-One

Indy — Now

I let out a shaky breath, feeling like the shards of my past had pierced through me. I’d carried the loss of our baby for years. It was heavy, draining. But I’d accepted it. I’d accepted that nothing would ever fill that void, ease that pain.

And to survive, I’d numbed it.

I’d cut out the parts of my life that once brought me joy. I’d deprived myself of the things I no longer deserved, the things I’d lost. And I’d run.

I wasn’t outrunning my pain. I wasn’t naive enough to believe I could do that.

I was outrunning hope.

Hope is dangerous. It makes you believe you’re capable of anything. No dream is too large, no distance too great. It makes you search for the tiniest flicker of light on the darkest days. Makes you get up one last time, again and again. Most of all, hope hurts.

Maybe that was why I’d run from Nolan.

He’d always given me hope. And I was not strong enough to survive the fall again.

“I think about them every day,” I whispered, not knowing if Nolan could hear me, but needing to say it anyway. “I wonder if they’d have your eyes and smile like you do. If they’d play baseball. If they’d be kind and silly. Brave.” I leaned my head against the window, my gaze distant. “I think that’s what hurts the most. The not knowing. Not knowing where they are. If they’re happy and safe. If they . . . if they feel loved.”

It was strange, loving someone you’d never met. Part of me felt like a fraud. I hadn’t known I was pregnant until it was too late and they were gone. But I felt that love, and I felt that loss. Now I was left with this love and nowhere to put it. And that was the most confusing thing.

“I wish I could tell you I know where our baby is,” Nolan said, his voice soft. “But I promise they can feel your love, no matter the distance.”

I looked at him, and though he didn’t reach for me, I couldn’t deny the comfort I felt having him here. How good it felt to give in. “Sometimes, when I’m feeling really lost, I imagine they’re with your dad. And I know they’re taken care of.”

If Wayne knew we’d lost a baby, I didn’t know. But he wouldn’t have hesitated to love them. No one loved more than him.

Except maybe his son.

“They would’ve been so lucky to have you as a dad,” I told him, saying all the things I wished I’d told him before. “And I’m so sorry I couldn’t give that to you.”

“Indy . . . it’s not over for us.”

“It is.” I shook my head, squeezing my eyes shut. This was why I’d run, why I’d stayed away. He made me want things I shouldn’t. “After I lost the baby... it was hard not to blame myself. I know the hospital said it wasn’t my fault. But how wasn’t it? My body failed me.” Those first few months after my loss, I’d searched tirelessly online. Looking for what I’d done wrong, what I could’ve done differently. “I got tired of not knowing, so I saw a specialist. I thought I had some sort of condition, something that caused me to miscarry. They ran some tests, but you know what they told me, Nolan?” I let out a curt laugh. “Nothing. Nothing abnormal came back at all. They assured me the miscarriage was a fluke thing. Told me it just happens.”

“I . . .” Nolan shook his head, seeming at a loss for words.

I was alone in this.

Finally, he asked, “Isn’t that a good thing? You can still have kids—”

“No,” I cried, bringing my hands to my chest. “Don’t you see? It’s me. I’m the problem.” It didn’t matter what the doctors said, how many times they assured me it was common and there was nothing I could’ve done—I didn’t believe them. If I’d paid better attention to my body, maybe I could’ve done something. “You said it yourself. We’re not meant to have everything we want in life. And maybe this was the universe’s way of telling me I wouldn’t be a good mom. Maybe they knew it all along, and that’s why I lost the baby. It’s the only thing that makes sense.” My voice broke, and it felt as though a dam had burst within me. “Honestly, even if that wasn’t the case, and it truly was a fluke thing, I don’t know if I even want kids anymore. I don’t think I could ever take that risk again.”

It was silent again, the tension thickening between us tenfold. I stared out the window, the light of the stars far away. Today, with Winnie, I’d felt that light. Experienced how life might’ve been had it worked differently. But she was gone, home safe and sound with her family.

And I was left with the actuality of what would never be.

“What about my mom?”

I looked up then, hearing the roughness in his voice. “What—what do you mean?”

“She wasn’t a good mom. You know that. Everyone knows that.” He cracked a smile, but it broke my heart. “But she was a mom. She had kids. And she has left us and used us time and time again. So, I’m sorry, but your way of thinking isn’t working for me, baby. I refuse to believe the best woman in my life doesn’t deserve kids. If you don’t want them, that’s one thing. But you don’t deserve them? I will never believe that. Indy, you deserve everything.”

I rubbed at my chest, unable to ease the ache there. Everything in me hurt, and I wanted it to go away. But I was so afraid that if it did, I’d somehow lose this baby even more. My pain was the only proof I had that they existed. That they were loved. And I was so afraid if I moved on, if I somehow found a way to heal, it would be as though I was forgetting them. Abandoning them .

I didn’t respond. There was nothing I could say to make Nolan understand. And he must’ve known that, as he slipped his keys into the ignition and started his truck. “Where are we going?” I asked, panicking as his house slipped out of view.

“I’m going to get Genny. And then we’re coming back home.”

“Nolan . . .” I stared at him in shock, afraid to let the spark of hope within me grow. “I can’t give you what you want.”

He choked on a sound, bringing his truck to a stop. “Did it ever occur to you that you’re what I want?” He watched me silently, but he wasn’t waiting for a response. He was ensuring I heard him loud and clear. When he continued, his voice was soft, so soft. “From the beginning, you were all I ever wanted. It wasn’t baseball, school, or anyone in this town that found me when I was lost. It was you. You led me out of that darkness, and ever since I’ve only wanted you. Everything else was just a bonus.”

He reached across the cab, slipping his hand into mine And I thought of that moment all those years ago, when he’d gone missing and the town sent out search parties to find him. Had he felt as hopeless, as afraid, as I did now?

Nolan

I hesitated with a hand on the doorknob, unable to open the door. I leaned against it, feeling like it was constructed of all my failures and mistakes, blocking me from what was behind it.

My wife.

When she’d miscarried all those years ago, it felt like the ground had been torn out from beneath us. Indy was quieter than she’d ever been, and as the days passed, she slipped inside of herself more and more. She didn’t want to talk about it, she’d told me. Even begged me to keep it between us. I was tangled in my own grief, though greatly aware of how different it was from the physical and mental toll she was enduring. I hadn’t known what to do—all I knew was I didn’t want to say the wrong thing and hurt her more .

So I’d stayed silent. I might’ve stood beside her, but I didn’t step into her pain, and I didn’t invite her into mine. I didn’t realize I’d made the wrong choice until there was so much empty space between us we couldn’t find each other again.

But as I thought of Indy, I realized how she had stepped into my grief. She hadn’t lost a parent, yet she never hesitated to bring up my dad. She kept his memory alive, celebrated his life.

I wanted to give her the same.

I opened the door, the faint glow of the hall light letting me see into my bedroom. Indy lay on the bed, her back to me. Despite the situation, I smiled at the sight of Genny curled up in the crevice of her knees. It was then I realized why Indy clung to our cat. Why she’d forced herself through school and into a career she didn’t love, determined to fulfill someone’s hopes of playing professional baseball.

It was all she had left of our dreams.

Leaving my clothes on, I kicked off my boots before I switched off the hall light and climbed onto the bed beside her. Her breaths were relaxed, and I lay on my back as I tried to balance my thoughts. Indy had revealed so much to me, given me her pain. There were many things I wanted to say to her. So much that deserved to be acknowledged.

Most of all, I wanted her to know she wasn’t alone.

“Maybe it’s because I grew up in a house full of boys . . . but I always imagined we would’ve had a son.” I thought she might’ve stirred, but I continued, “He has curly red hair, and he’s got his momma’s smile. Warm and inviting, with just a dash of trouble. He plays baseball, of course. Learned it from his old man. Except sometimes I imagine him telling me he doesn’t want to play, and I’m okay with that. We encourage him to be happy. Tell him we’ll always love him. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a little shit too. How could he not be when he’s got us as parents? He definitely throws watermelons at stop signs—”

Indy choked on a noise, something between a giggle and a cry. I opened my mouth to tell her more, just as she said, “He has curly blond hair—not red. And sometimes when I’m feeling extra wild, I’ll give him one blue eye and one brown eye. I like the idea of him having a mix of the both of us. ”

“You are wild.” I smirked, quiet amusement in my voice. “I think he should be tall though. Unless you want to keep your perfect mix of us and give him one short leg and one extra-long one—”

Indy laughed. I was grateful to hear the sound, but it was short-lived. She sucked in a breath, the sound choppy. Feeling her shift beside me, I rolled onto my side, never so happy to meet her in the middle.

Wrapping my arms around her, I pulled her into me as she clutched the front of my shirt, her forehead against my chest. Her cries were silent. The only sign she was crumbling at all was her trembling back, the warmth of her tears seeping through my clothes. Something soft brushed against the back of my hand, and I realized it was Genny, likely disgruntled we’d woken her. But she lay against Indy’s back, silently comforting her like she had all the years I was gone.

But I’m here now.

And I’m holding on.