The doctor quietly explained that Clara had come in because she had experienced cramping and light bleeding that morning.
Given her history, the hospital had arranged an urgent scan.
My stomach dropped.
“Is the baby okay?”
The doctor paused just long enough to terrify me.
“Right now, there is a heartbeat, and the scan is reassuring.
But with her history, we want her monitored closely.
She needs rest today and follow-up care.”
I heard only one phrase.
There is a heartbeat.
Clara’s eyes filled, but she blinked the tears away.
I remembered both miscarriages.
The first time, I had held her hand in the hospital and cried with her.
The second time, I had tried to be strong by becoming silent.
I told myself I was protecting her from my grief.
Really, I was protecting myself from hers.
After the appointment, Clara walked into the hallway carrying the envelope and a copy of the scan.
I followed several steps behind.
At the elevators, she pressed the button.
“Let me drive you home,” I said.
“No.”
“The doctor said you should rest.”
“I heard her.”
“Clara, please.”
She turned so sharply that I stopped.
“Do not turn this into a rescue mission because you suddenly discovered there might be a baby.”
People were passing us, but neither of us cared anymore.
“I’m not trying to rescue you.”
“Then what are you trying to do?”
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
Because I didn’t know yet.
I wanted to undo the divorce.
Undo every late night at work.
Undo the moment I nodded when she asked whether I had already decided.
But remorse wasn’t a time machine.
“I want to stop making things worse,” I finally said.
Her expression shifted slightly.
The elevator doors opened.
She stepped inside.
I stayed outside.
“Can I at least call you tonight?”
She hesitated.
“You can text.”
It was less than I wanted and more than I deserved.
That night, I stared at my phone for nearly an hour before writing a message.
I deleted every version that contained an excuse.
I didn’t say I had been stressed.
I didn’t say we were both grieving.
I didn’t say divorce had seemed logical at the time.
Finally I wrote that I was sorry I had abandoned her emotionally before I abandoned the marriage, that I understood she owed me nothing, and that if she wanted me involved in the pregnancy, I would follow whatever boundaries she set.
Her reply came forty minutes later.
“I need time.”
I answered, “Take it.”
For the next week, I heard nothing.
It was the longest week of my life.
