48. Layne

Chapter forty-eight

Layne

Y ou were never good enough. Why’d you think you were good enough to be the mother of his baby? Your body is broken, Layne. You’ll never be able to give Wes what he wants. You should have just stayed dead.

A guttural moan escapes my lips as waves of overwhelming emotions wash over me. Every inch of my body aches, but it is my heart that bears the most pain. Our baby didn’t make it, and it’s because of me. My eyes snap open and I search the room for Wes, but he is not in his normal sleeper chair by the window. Panic hits.

He left. He left you, Layne. Maybe he finally realized you are not what he wants. You’re worthless and never deserved him.

Darkness clouds my vision as I continue screaming and crying, my hands going to all the cords and tubes attached to my body. Ripping them out one by one. I need to get out of here. Alarms start beeping, and within a few minutes, a nurse runs into the room.

“Sweetie, don’t do that. Everything’s okay.” She says calmly as she reaches for me.

Her hand touches my shoulder and I hear the loud crack before it registers that I’ve smacked her across the face. A pang of guilt washes over me as I realize what I’ve done. The nurse’s face contorts with pain, and I can’t believe that I’ve hurt someone who was only trying to help. Tears stream down my face as I apologize profusely, my voice choked with remorse.

The nurse, despite the pain, remains calm and understanding. She gently reassures me that everything will be alright and that I need to calm down. My breathing is erratic and I feel like I’m falling. She calls for additional help to address the alarms and tend to my medical needs.

“Where’s my husband?” I ask the nurse. My question remains unanswered amidst the commotion of other nurses and a doctor’s arrival. A doctor administers some medication into my I.V. and I immediately calm down, my head getting fuzzy. The chaos settles down and I find myself consumed by the deep sense of loss. Our baby... our precious little one didn’t make it. The weight of that reality crashes down on me. I take a deep breath to try to collect myself. I need Wes.

Even with my throat dry for crying and screaming, I ask the nurse again. “Do you know where my husband went?”

The nurse’s already calm demeanor softens even more. “I sent him to the cafeteria. He’s been sitting bedside for days and I swear I haven’t even seen him get up to use the bathroom. He’ll be back soon.” She gives me a kind smile before she walks over to the whiteboard on the wall.

“I-I’m so sorry I hit you.” I mutter, feeling the tears creeping back.

“Sweetie, I understand.” She looks back at me. “Really, I do.”

I lie back in the hospital bed, my heart heavy with the grief and loss. All I want is Wes right now. The medicine the doctor administered to my I.V. takes over, and the world around me blurs, falling out of focus. My eyes flutter closed and I fall back into the numbing darkness.

Worthless.

Wes’s voice, whispering “ Ma Petite Mort ,“ fills my subconscious, creating a dream-like sensation. “Baby, open your eyes. The doctor is here, and he needs to talk with us.”

I will my heavy eyelids to open. Wes’s face is blurry without my glasses, but he’s right beside me. Not a dream . “What’s going on?” I choke out, my throat extremely dry now. I shift to sit myself upright. Wes hands me my glasses, and the world becomes clear once more.

“Mrs. Larimore,” The doctor smiles. “How are you feeling today?”

I look from him to Wes, whose hand comes up to push my hair out of my face. “Um, better, I guess? I’m not sure how to answer. My body hurts. My heart hurts even more.”

The doctor types something out on his tablet. Wes takes the moment of silence to finger comb through my hair and quickly put it in a braid, tying it off with the hair tie he had from around his wrist. As the doctor continues to type on his tablet, I can’t help but feel a sense of unease. Wes’s touch, though comforting, can’t ease the pain in my heart. I long for answers, for clarity.

The doctor finally looks up from his tablet, his eyes filled with concern. “Layne, we’ve received the test results,” he begins, his voice gentle yet somber. “I’m not sure if anyone has explained anything to you about what happened.”

My heart sinks, and I tightly grip Wes’s hand for support. I brace myself for the worst, dreading what the doctor is about to say .

“You had a serious uterine infection,” the doctor continues, his words heavy with gravity. “Unfortunately, it’s caused a miscarriage. We successfully cleaned everything, and the antibiotics cleared the infection.”

I struggle to comprehend the severity of what the doctor is saying. Does this mean I can’t have kids? My mind races with questions and fear, but Wes’s hand grabs mine and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

“What does this mean for me? Can I not have kids?” I manage to ask, my voice trembling.

The doctor takes a deep breath before responding. “We won’t really know if it has done any damage. We can consider secondary infertility after a year of you not successfully getting pregnant. I can recommend a good doctor for follow-up testing.”

A wave of sadness washes over me as I absorb the reality of my situation. I feel overwhelmed by the uncertainty of my future, of our future. The voice in my head fills my thoughts.

See, you don’t even know if you can get pregnant again. He will definitely leave you now. There’s no way he’s going to stay with you if you can’t have his kids.

Wes squeezes my hand tightly, his love and support evident in his touch. “We’re in this together,” he whispers, his voice filled with resolve. It’s as if he could hear my thoughts and is trying to reassure me.

“I’ll be discharging you today, but I’d like you to continue to rest at home.” He finishes whatever he is typing and then looks at us. “If you feel up to it. This next cycle you can try again. Don’t rush yourself, though. What you both just went through is an emotional thing, and it’s okay to take some time to heal. If you have no questions, the nurse will come soon to prepare you for leaving.”

Wes and I both shake our heads. Nodding, the doctor exits the room. “You just tell me what you need from me, Ma Petite Mort . Whatever you need.“ Wes wraps his arms around me, holding me tightly to his chest. I shift on the bed, he climbs on and holds me again. “Fuck, I almost lost you.”

The weight of the miscarriage hangs heavy in the air, casting a shadow over our hopes and dreams of starting a family. In Wes’s arms, everything fades away. Silencing my inner voice, I feel his love for me.

We leave the hospital, my heart heavy but I need to keep my head from spiraling. The ride to the loft is quiet, only the stereo playing music and our breathing is making noise. “ All is Numb “ plays and I can’t help but think of how fitting of a song it is.

“Where’s Gavin?” I finally ask, realizing that we have been in the hospital for weeks now and I have seen him or heard Wes mention him.

“Gavin’s been taking care of the stuff he came to the states to deal with. We’ll see him before he goes back to Scotland.” Wes brakes at a red light and looks over at me. “When we get home, I’ll call Atlas to let him know you’re home.”

OH MY GOD, ATLAS!

“Fuck, he must be so worried. I didn’t even think about calling him.” Feeling like the shittiest friend ever, I realize I don’t even have my phone to text him.

“I called him. I’ve been calling him daily to give him updates. I knew you would have wanted me to.”

This man is everything. I don’t deserve him. I really fucking don’t.

“I bet I don’t even have a job anymore,” I laugh nervously, leaning forward with my head in my hands. Honestly, I don’t even know if I could focus at work after this.

“Atlas let Kris know, and she said to take all the time you need. If you still want your job, it’s waiting for you.” Wes makes the turn down the waterfront street and pulls up to the gate. With the window rolled down, he punches in the code and pulls through the open gate.

Wes pulls up to the warehouse and I can’t shake off the guilt of not contacting Atlas sooner. He’s my best friend, always there for me, and I didn’t even think about him for a second. What the hell kind of friend am I?

The worst. God, Layne, you’re such a fuckup. You just let everyone who loves you down.

Wes turns off the stereo, and the silence envelops us. I take a deep breath, preparing myself to head back inside.