Chapter 17 Failure Cara #3
My nose tingles, and I sniffle, blinking away the sudden sting in my eyes.
“It’s perfect.” Another sniffle, and I lift a shoulder.
“You know, if Cara Jr. is off the table.” Emmett chuckles, and I melt in the safety of his chest. “Do you really think…” Fear creeps up my throat, seizing the words I want to say, the question I’m afraid to ask. Does he really think we’re pregnant?
He brackets my jaw, his eyes holding that same fear, like we’re both afraid we’ll jinx it.
“I don’t know,” he admits on a tender murmur.
“But I know that I just feel… good. Positive. Hopeful. Something feels right this time, Care. It feels like… it feels like it’s our time, you know?
” He shakes his head, glancing away. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. ”
“No.” I cup his cheek, bringing his gaze back to mine. “No, Em. I feel it too. And sometimes… sometimes I’m afraid it’s all in my head. That I’m being unrealistic, and I’m the only one. But that must mean something, right? That both of us feel it? It has to be a sign.”
“I think so, baby.” He kisses my lips, then grips my hips as he crouches at my belly.
“I hope you’re in there, baby. Your mama’s got the most perfect home for you to cook in for nine months.
” My heart pulls taut, and when he presses his lips to my stomach, I close my eyes and pray that our love is enough to will this baby into existence.
That I’m not about to break my husband’s heart.
Emmett spends the rest of the afternoon pampering me.
It’s one of his favorite ways to keep me from hyperfixating and spiraling.
It works, always, and especially now, though that might have something to do with how ridiculous he looks, kneeling on the floor at my feet, wearing a fluffy purple robe covered in heart-shaped pictures of my face, one of my headbands pushing his hair back so it doesn’t get stuck in the pink clay rejuvenating face mask I slopped on his skin.
“Perfect,” he mutters, tucking the top coat away and proceeding to blow on my wet toes. He cradles one foot in his hand, his grin every bit as sheepish as it is proud as he shows off his nail polish job.
Sky blue, with teensy, wobbly rainbows on both big toes.
And I have never, ever loved anything the way I love my husband.
An hour later, with fresh faces, dry toes, and real clothes, we sit down to eat.
My phone rings the moment my ass hits the chair.
Both of us freeze, and my heart pounds without looking at the caller ID.
My gaze collides with Emmett’s, and all that fear comes racing back.
“You know what? Let’s not get it. Yeah, let’s let it go to voicemail.
” I shake my head, reaching for the salad bowl, dumping at least 95 percent of it on my plate.
“We can listen later tonight, after your game, in case it’s bad news.
Or tomorrow, maybe. Honestly,”—I laugh, ignoring the shrill sound of it as I shrug—“we could just, like… wait it out, you know? Like, see if I get my period in a couple days. Then, if I don’t, we can listen to the voicemail. I think that’s a—”
“Cara.” Emmett lays his hand over mine. “Hopeful, remember?”
I look down at my plate, blood thundering in my ears as I accept the call and put it on speaker, squeezing my eyes shut. Emmett laces his fingers through mine, and I release my breath. “Hello?”
“Hi there. Am I speaking with Cara Brodie?”
“Yes, this is Cara.”
“Hi, Cara. I’m calling from Dr. Brenling’s office with your test results from your blood draw this morning. Is now a good time?”
“Depends on the results,” I reply on a forced laugh.
Emmett gives me a patient smile. It’s beautiful and steady, like there isn’t an uncertain bone in his body. I try to focus on it, to soak in his strength.
The sound of the blood rushing in my ears is so loud it nearly drowns out the silence that stretches as I wait for a reaction from the nurse. Anything to indicate she’s heard me.
But the nurse says nothing.
And my heart… my heart stops beating.
I pull my hand back from Emmett’s, laying both in my lap as my entire world is reduced to the violent tremble in them when the nurse finally speaks.
“As you know, we consider hCG levels of twenty-five and over to be positive for pregnancy, five and under to be negative, and anything in between is a bit of a waiting game.” She pauses, maybe waiting for me to acknowledge her words.
I don’t. There’s a lump in my throat, sudden and massive, and I can’t seem to get enough air around it, no matter how hard I try.
My chest aches, a devastating, soul-crushing pain unlike anything I’ve ever felt.
This pain says I’ll never dare to dream again.
This pain says I’ll never be me again.
I don’t hear Emmett’s chair scrape. One moment he’s sitting at the table, and the next he’s behind me, one hand gripping my shoulder, the other pressed over my heart.
Maybe one day I’ll ask him if he could feel the way my heart shattered at the nurse’s next words.
“Your hCG levels came back at three. You’re not pregnant, Cara.”
The hand over my heart trembles, same as the one on my shoulder. Broad fingertips that dig into my flesh, like they’re hanging on for dear life, clinging to a future they refuse to let go of. Shaking, as he watches this dream go down the drain.
Like he’s realized, in this moment, that sometimes there is no miracle.
Sometimes the answer is just… no.
There’s no comma, no semicolon, no goddamn question mark at the end of the sentence, leaving the door open. Just a fucking period. Final and damning.
Furious tears prickle, and my vision blurs.
“But I… I have symptoms. My back hurts and my nipples are sensitive. I’m tired, and my—”
“A lot of PMS symptoms mimic pregnancy symptoms, sweetheart.”
“But I… I…” My jaw clenches, a bitterness so deep, so angry, pulling every muscle taut, until I feel like I’m going to snap.
I close my eyes, desperate to shake away the tears, the anger, but it’s no use.
With nowhere else to go, they spill silently down my cheeks.
Emmett reaches for my hand and I bat him away, fists balling at my chest as I grasp for straws.
“I’m nauseous. Yesterday at lunch, it smelled so strong, and I felt like I was going to be sick. And then this morning—”
“It was probably just nerves.” The nurse pauses before continuing softly. “I’ve been in your shoes, Cara. The unfortunate truth is, sometimes we want it so badly we’ll convince ourselves it’s there. I’m sorry.”
Is that what this is? I’m so desperate I’ve become delusional?
The nurse continues in my silence, prattling on about our options as my body forces me to my feet, sending me pacing around the kitchen, the living room.
My gaze collides with Emmett’s right as she delivers Dr. Brenling’s suggestion to put everything on hold.
It’s the devastation in his eyes, the desperation, the fucking pity as the nurse cites that poor egg quality has likely impacted our embryos, that forces me to tear my gaze away, unable to live beneath the weight of all those emotions clouding his stare.
Emotions that wouldn’t live there if my body would just do what it’s supposed to and fucking work.
Emotions that wouldn’t live there if it weren’t for me.
Me. I’m the problem. Not him.
“With only one embryo remaining, Dr. Brenling suggests you do a few rounds of egg retrievals to stockpile some embryos before attempting another transfer, at which point we could discuss transferring more than one. He also wants to remind you that, um…” The nurse clears her throat.
It does nothing to diminish her hesitancy.
“IVF using your husband’s sperm and donor eggs, as well as surrogacy, are both excellent options for your situation. ”
I’m the fucking problem.
“What? Care, no. No, baby, you are not the problem.”
My head snaps up as Emmett strides toward me, shaking his head. My eyes bounce to my shaking hand, hovering above the mouth that accidentally uttered those words out loud. That finally spoke the truth into existence.
So I do it again, backing away from him as tears barrel down my cheeks and I end the call.
“I’m the fucking problem. Me, Emmett.”
He reaches for me, clenching his jaw when I swat him away.
Tears build in those crushing blue eyes, and for the first time in my life, I don’t know how to fix this.
I don’t know how to fix his hurt, because I’m drowning in my own.
I don’t know how to love him through this, because I don’t…
I don’t know how to love myself through this.
I’ve never not known how to love myself.
My head hangs, too heavy with shame to keep it held high. My fists unclench, letting the last of my hopes sift through my fingers. And my heart sinks in defeat.
I am a failure.
And Emmett? Emmett would be better off without me.
Warm hands cup my face, tilting it up. I close my eyes, reveling in the way I feel in his grasp as he gently sweeps my tears away. Safe. Treasured. Loved beyond measure.
How much longer do I get to live here?
How long until it truly sets in that I can’t give him this? That someone else could?
That he doesn’t… need me.
“Look at me, baby.”
My pulse pounds, my shattered heart desperate to oblige him. Tears slide down my face as I place my hands over his, gently prying them off me. “I can’t,” I whisper, and every ounce of Emmett’s anguish bleeds into the room as I turn away from him.
I pause at the bottom of the stairs, feeling his presence at my back, my hands shaking with the need to hold him, to chase away his quiet sniffles. “I’m sorry, Emmett.”
I make it two steps before car doors slam in our driveway, and another two before a round of giggles sounds outside. Halfway to the top, and there’s an eager knock on the front door before it flies right open.
“There you two are!”
My eyes shut at the voice in my entryway, and I grip the banister as I pause on the stairs.
“What are you doing here?” Emmett’s voice shakes as he struggles to get ahold of his emotions. “I said I didn’t have any tickets for you tonight. Care, baby, go upstairs. Don’t worry about them right now.”
“Geez, don’t act so eager to see us.”
I do a piss-poor job of cleaning the tears from my face before I turn around, watching as Craig peels off his coat and tosses it at the bench in our entryway before working on Sasha’s, giddy smiles on both their faces.
He looks up at me, his nose scrunching, then frowns at Emmett. “What’s up with you two? Cara looks like shit.” He leans closer, prodding Emmett’s cheek. “And were you crying?”
Emmett shoves Craig back a step. “Watch your fucking mouth when you’re talking about my wife.”
Craig raises his hands in defense. “Okay, okay. Sheesh.” He flashes me what I’m sure he thinks is a charming grin. “Plus, your version of shit is everyone else’s normal.”
Sasha’s gaze bounces between Emmett, Craig, and me. She grabs Craig’s elbow. “Maybe it’s not a good time.”
“Correct.” Emmett tosses Craig his coat and opens the door. “You need to leave. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Aw, c’mon, man. We just wanted to share our news with you in person, that’s all. We drove all the way here. If you really don’t have tickets to the game tonight, we’ll leave after.”
Emmett’s eyes flash before pinging to mine. He tries to usher them out the door, but I take a step closer, then another, a furious pounding in my chest, screaming in my ears so loud I can barely hear my own question. “News? What news?”
Craig and Sasha look at each other, a silent moment that ends too soon as grins explode across their faces. Craig yanks a giggling Sasha back against his chest, his hands on her belly.
“We’re pregnant!”
I’ll remember this moment for the rest of my life, I’m sure of it. The way all that filthy jealousy sizzles and pops. The bitter anger that boils over, scorching my skin. The crushing heartache that steals my breath. The claws of failure sinking in, submerging me in a sea of self-loathing.
I’ll remember the suffocating agony, and I’ll remember the way all of it floated away as I drowned.
Because that’s what happens.
I drown, right here on my staircase, until I feel empty.
Until I feel… nothing.
I feel nothing.