No Strings Attached

Chapter Eleven

Wiping his eyes with the cuff of his jacket, he turned to the picture of the sleeping baby, her tiny lips pursed in a cupid’s bow so delicately, and long, graceful lashes laid peacefully against her rounded cheeks.

“And what did happen?” he mumbled, his thumb stroking the picture adoringly, thinking of Ava ... thinking of his child, their child, hoping ...

“She ... she ...” Shannon’s throat constricted, as she shook her head – trying desperately to block the tears, the guilt... she should have told him, if she’d have told him then he could have seen her, he could have held her ... even though she was cold and rigid she was real, he could have known that ... seen that. She inhaled deeply, trying to gather enough strength to turn to the back of the book – to the notes from the doctor, the clinical, sterile reports that she’d pocketed, convinced that they would tell her something – anything – that would prove her suspicions; that it was her fault.

His fingers shook as he read the details, the palm of his hand dragging across his mouth in desolation. His eyes flickered unseeingly between her tears, and the anguish that blazed across her beautiful features, and the cold, empty information that he was picking up from the loose papers that she’d tucked into the back.

“Pulmonary Hypoplasia?” he muttered, “What the fuck is that? I mean ... Did they ... I mean did they explain any of it to you?”

“It’s an incomplete development of the lungs,” she said quietly, “They explained it to me, but I ... just couldn’t understand it. I uh, well she hadn’t moved ... in days. And I read everything, Nate, I knew everything about having her, I was so ready for her, I promise I was, I didn’t...” her voice broke as she pleaded with him to believe her, “I promise I couldn’t have done anything differently! It wasn’t my fault, they didn’t even really know if it was that that uh ... made her ... I wanted her so badly ...”she crumbled inwards – her body folding into its own bleakness as her vacant eyes closed around the burning tears.

“Hey, hey, come here, come here,” he whispered, drawing her to him and she fell against his chest – her body exhausted with sadness as he ran his fingers through her hair, staring at the empty wall over the top of her head, “I would never blame you for that, stop it.”

“I just ... she didn’t move. And when I told the doctor, he took me for an ultrasound. I was induced later on that day, I couldn’t carry her ... I couldn’t bear to ... and she was ... sleeping. She didn’t cry or ... anything, she was just sleeping.”

He pressed his lips to her soft, dark hair, tears spilling from his eyes as he crushed her to his chest.

“And then I just ... went home,” she frowned against his chest – the zip on his jacket digging into the soft flesh of her cheek somehow grounding her, so that she didn’t drown in the pain that washed over her with the memories – that overwhelming empty feeling that she took away with her. “When I walked into that hospital, I felt like a woman – I was already a mother, as far as I was concerned, I was ready for her, and it was as though – for the first time in my life I was bringing something good into the world – like I was doing something ... memorable, I had a purpose, you know? And it was a piece ... it was a piece of you that I could have, that I deserved ...”