18. Egypt
EGYPT
T he ambulance lights painted the street in a blur of red and white. People were outside, phones up, snapping pictures, yelling out my name. But all I could focus on was Nasseem.
He hadn’t opened his eyes since he hit the ground.
I sat on the edge of the gurney beside him, gripping his bloody hand with both of mine as the EMTs shouted vitals and orders back and forth. His blood soaked through my clothes, warm and sticky. The machines hooked up to him beeped and clicked, showing that he was still alive…at least for now.
“Pressure’s low, but we’re holding. We need to move,” one EMT barked the moment we made it to the hospital not long after. I didn’t let go of his hand until I was forced to when they snatched the gurney from the ambulance and wheeled him inside of the building.
“Ma’am, you okay?” a nurse asked me, placing her hand on my shoulder.
“That’s his blood,” I muttered numbly. “All his?—”
“No, baby girl,” she said, cutting me off. “Look down.”
I followed her eyes and saw it—streaks of deep crimson between my legs. The fabric of my pants was drenched in blood, and the smell hit me all at once. Metallic, sharp, real.
“No,” I whispered. My voice cracked. “No, no, no?—”
I barely had time to scream before the whole world tilted and everything went dark.
I woke up in a hospital bed. My mouth was dry, my body aching. Light filtered through the blinds, casting sharp lines across the room. My stomach felt hollow, my heart even more so.
“Hey, you’re awake,” a soft voice said beside me.
I turned slowly. Serenity and Averi were sitting in chairs, both of their eyes red and swollen. Their makeup was smudged, their faces pale. Averi reached for my hand. “You scared the shit outta us.”
I tried to speak but couldn’t.
“You passed out in the ER,” Serenity said gently. “You were bleeding really bad.”
I looked down again, saw the IV in my arm, the heart monitor beside me, the sterile gown I was in. The memory of Nasseem on the ground, blood pouring from him, my own legs wet with warmth—everything came crashing back…
“The baby—” I choked.
Serenity nodded slowly, her eyes glossing with tears. “Egypt…”
A doctor stepped in then, saving her from having to say it. He looked tired, but kind. “Miss Armstrong,” he began, “I’m so sorry, but you miscarried. The trauma and stress?—”
I didn’t hear the rest. I just fell apart. My body curled into itself, a raw sob ripping through my throat. I felt Averi’s arms around me, Serenity pressing a hand to my back, but I was somewhere else—lost, broken, completely shattered.
I couldn’t breathe.
Not my baby. Not our baby.
The doctor waited before continuing, speaking only when I finally calmed into soft hiccups. “We need to perform a D it had to come from me and nobody else.
I watched him as he slept, watched as he looked peaceful.
Meanwhile, I was going through turmoil trying to deal with the loss of a child, trying to figure out how the hell I was going to break the news to him when I didn’t even believe it myself.
Instinctively, my hand went to my stomach, and I felt terrible as tears slowly spilled down my face.
I hadn’t even realized I had cried myself to sleep until I heard my name.
“Egypt?”
My eyes shot open. Nasseem looked at me confused, probably trying to figure out why I was in a bed next to him, why I was in a hospital gown.
“Nasseem?” I sat up and slowly got out of bed as I moved closer instantly, brushing hair off his forehead. “Hey…hey, I’m right here.”
He blinked slowly. “You okay?”
I stared at him, torn between wanting to lie and wanting to spare him… and needing to be real with the only person who would truly understand the depth of my grief.
I swallowed hard. “No. I’m not okay.”
His breath caught. I saw it—the moment his body tensed, the moment his eyes clouded with dread. “Egypt… what happened?”
I took his hand in mine and brought it to my stomach.
“We lost the baby, Nasseem.” The heartbreak on his face was immediate.
“No…” His voice broke.
Tears spilled from the corners of his eyes, and I climbed into his bed beside him, careful of his IVs, his bandages. He reached for me, and I clung to him like my life depended on it. We didn’t speak for a while. We just cried.
“I’m sorry,” he kept whispering. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
“I know.”
“I should’ve never?—”
“Nas,” I cut him off, voice hoarse. “Please don’t. I don’t want to blame you. I don’t…I can’t. But this hurts.”
“I know, baby. I know.”
He kissed my forehead and let the tears fall freely. He held me tighter.
“I wanted to be better for you. For our baby.”
“I know you did.”
“But I failed you.”
I looked at him, my heart torn in two. “No. Nate failed us. The streets failed us. The world failed us. But you didn’t.”
We lay there in silence, wrapped around each other. Our grief was loud, our pain unspoken, but the love between us still pulsed like a heartbeat.
Even in this, I knew we would survive this.
We had to.
It was a strange feeling bringing him home like this.
The house was quiet when we stepped through the door. Too quiet. I’d left in a rush; everything had been so chaotic… but somehow it still smelled like us. Like fresh linen and cologne. Like candles I hadn’t had the energy to light in days. Like comfort.
Nasseem leaned against me as I helped guide him through the foyer. His left side was still stiff, slower. The bandages on his shoulder peeked out from under his hoodie. He was walking better than I expected, but every step still made me wince.
“Almost there,” I murmured, tightening my arm around his waist.
He didn’t say much, but when he did look at me, there was so much love in his eyes. So much regret too.
Just like he promised, the movers had already come and gone. A stack of boxes sat in the corner by the stairs—clothes, sneakers, colognes, watches. His PS5 was already hooked up to the TV in the bedroom. The same bedroom that was now ours.
He said he’d put his condo on the market. Said he wasn’t sure yet if he wanted to sell or lease it out. That was before the shooting. Before we lost everything.
Now he hadn’t brought it up once.
I didn’t push.
I helped him into our bed, propping up the pillows and getting his meds from the bag the hospital sent us home with. He hadn’t let go of the ultrasound picture once since it was handed back to him. It was folded in half and tucked in the front pocket of his hoodie like it belonged to his heartbeat.
“You good?” I asked, brushing the curls off his forehead once I got him situated.
“I am now,” he said, lips barely lifting into a smile. “You gon’ lay with me?”
“In a little bit. Lemme get you fed first.”
“Alright. Don’t forget the extra sauce.”
That almost made me smile. “I got you.”
Once he was settled, I pulled out my phone to order food. Thai—his favorite. Something warm. Spicy. Healing. I was halfway through typing in the order when the knock came at the door. At first, I didn’t move. I hadn’t expected anybody. Then I remembered…Nana.
She told me before we left Memphis that she was gonna “get us started”, her words, for the baby. I told her not to, said we had time, but she waved me off and said she’d already found neutral colors and couldn’t wait.
I never thought the delivery would actually show up. When I opened the door and saw the stack of boxes sitting on the porch, my stomach dropped. I didn’t cry. Not yet.
The boxes weren’t big. Three medium-sized ones, stacked neatly with a bow tied around the top. A card was taped to the side.
For your blessing. Can’t wait to hold them. – Nana.
My throat closed. My eyes burned. But I didn’t cry. I carried the boxes inside and placed them just outside the guest room…the one I’d been eyeing as a nursery.
The door was already cracked, and I could see inside. The small stack of baby books in the corner, the crib I ordered after my appointment in Memphis, still in its unopened box. The plush giraffe I found on Etsy. The shelf I hadn’t hung yet.
I stared at all of it. The pieces of a dream that would never be finished. But I didn’t go in. I couldn’t. Instead, I shut the door gently, like I was trying not to wake something sacred, and stepped back into the hallway.
The food still wasn’t here. Nasseem was in the bedroom, resting.
And me? I needed a moment. I grabbed a pre-roll from the tin in my kitchen drawer—something Serenity gave me months ago when she said I looked entirely too sober for this life.
I hadn’t touched it in weeks. Not since I found out I was pregnant.