Zeal

I.

"No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear."

― C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

There was blood again.

I noticed it that morning before I left for work. Little red spots all over the white, like in a polka dot dress that it's supposed to be cute. That's all it takes to get me in a shitty mood, just a different color from what I was expecting. I'd spent the whole day keeping the secret from him and I knew it was wrong. I know I shouldn't have said 'have a good day' when I knew I would ruin it eventually. I didn't even know how to tell him. I just sat there for hours watching the rain poured the lawn. Should I just have said it while we were having breakfast? Like 'hey can you pass me the ketchup and by the way, I'm not pregnant'? That's a great idea for sure. Let's ruin everyone's food.

I'd been a mess for the last six months at least. A physical and mental mess since we started the treatments for our infertility. Of course, the problem was mine. I didn't know it at first but after thousands of dollars we found out there was something wrong with me that couldn't be fixed easily. I remember I cried the whole night in silence, not wanting him to hear my ashamed sobs. I just lay there thinking about how my luck was the worst and how I wished I could believe in any kind of god just to have someone to blame for what was happening to us. To me. The problem is mine. I am like a defective machine with some missing parts and I have no way to replace them.

¨

We met in our last year of college. It was the fifth for him, actually. Neither of us was any kind of stereotype and maybe that was why we matched so fast. Literally matched thanks to an online dating site. I don't know who created those, but I'm glad someone had such a great idea considering how bad at dating I always had been. We were just two always stressed students in a huge sea of stressed students. Nothing special, nothing different, nothing that could make our path cross in any way. He had that long-hair-tied-in-a-loose-ponytail look that a lot of art students have while they're working. A mix between an Irish singer and a hipster guy with the glasses and all. Not the most good-looking man on earth but incredibly attractive to me. Our first date was at a kava bar and after a few drinks, I could notice that it wasn't the drinks what made me feel fascinated by him.

I still feel that way. Deeply interested in what he says and how he says it. Paying attention to his words like if they were a sacred secret only revealed to me. I've always admired his eternal search for knowledge and maybe I'm secretly jealous because I wish I could be that way. But he shares. And we can talk for hours jumping from one thing to the other. Talking about how we want to build our future and how our childhood fears are a part of all of us. His eyes shine, and he holds my hands as if he was holding my heart. He feels warm. He feels like home.

¨

"It happened again, Felix," he looked at me and I could notice the disappointment showing on his face. He knew I was talking about the baby. The non-existing baby. He never does it on purpose, but that look always strikes something deep on me. A feeling that I failed him somehow. "I don't want to talk about it. I'm going to bed." I said and went straight to our room. I wasn't trying to avoid him, but I didn't want to feel his hands drying my tears.