Chapter Fifteen
AMBER
ONE YEAR LATER
Rain pelted onto the roof of our new, tiny home, lashing against the windows, then slowly rolling to the ground. Thunder rumbled in the distance as I looked at the almost-black sky in the middle of a summer afternoon.
Florida was known for its strange weather patterns, but this summer, we had only experienced darkness and rain. It reflected my mood perfectly. Most days, I could barely make it out of the bed, preferring to stay in the dark with my face pressed into the pillow as I cried. My every thought was filled with the face of my daughter, the daughter I hadn’t known about and failed to protect.
An entire year later and I still couldn’t find forgiveness within myself. It was my fault she had died. If I had known, had noticed my irregular menstrual cycle, had gone to a doctor like I was supposed to, then we would have been more careful. Ryan would have driven more carefully. Maybe I wouldn’t have even gone out that day.
Ryan liked to remind me that no matter how careful we were, the accident wasn’t our fault. A drunk driver hit us. A drunk driver took away my baby, my little girl. She was gone from the world in the blink of an eye, and I didn’t even know about her.
I hadn’t noticed the extra weight, my missing menstrual cycle, no morning sickness. I had been drinking and going about life like normal.
We had moved from the apartment a few months ago to something bigger with our own garage and a pool. Ryan spent most of his time in the pool, swimming laps in the early mornings and late evenings before and after work, and then, he spent his weekends working on an old bike his dad found at an auction.
We hardly spoke. Like two passing ships in the night, we had fallen into a terrible cycle of silence.
At first, he tried. He pulled me out of bed every morning to have a cup of coffee with him before work, but eventually, after a few weeks of forced conversations, he let me stay in bed. When he came home from work, he would bring me my favorite foods, but I wasn’t hungry. I ate just enough to stay alive and to appease him.
On the weekends, he would force me out of the house, even though most of the time, he had to physically pull me out of the bed screaming and crying and put me into the shower and dress me. Grief and depression had consumed me by that point. I’d begun losing my will to live.
Now, six months later, he had stopped doing all of that and decided instead to just leave me be, to let me deal with my grief in my own way. He now spent all of his time outside of the house, working and building up his name in the business. He had already been promoted, and he often came home late, would quietly make himself food in the kitchen, shower, and then slide into bed next to me.
Every night, it was the same routine. He would pull me to him, his warmth wrapping around me just like my childhood blanket, and he brought me comfort in those quiet moments in the dark. My ear would be pressed to his chest so I could listen to his steady heartbeat. He would kiss my forehead, rub gentle, soft circles on my thigh, and whisper into my ear his love for me.
Most nights, I just cried, letting him absorb my pain, and fell asleep feeling safe. In those moments, my mind would be free of my child as he breathed life back into me, but it wasn’t enough because this darkness consumed me whenever he wasn’t around and sent me spiraling right back to square one.
The rain was endless today. Our pool was on the verge of flooding. Ryan hadn’t called during lunch like he always did, and worry tore at me, the little voice in my head whispering all my darkest fears over and over.
Maybe he was talking to the pretty receptionist, who always flirted with him and Ace. Maybe it was a customer. Would my depression over the loss of our child end our relationship? Did he blame me for losing our baby? Did he hate me as much as I hated myself?
A giant rumble of thunder shook the glass panes, startling me from my dark thoughts. I looked out into the dreary world and then back to the clock under the television. The red numbers glared back at me, haunting my mind. It was three in the afternoon and still not a word from my husband.
A giant, electric clap sounded outside, followed by a roaring rumble. The house fell into complete darkness. The red letters no longer showed the time on the tiny screen, and the soft sound of the television playing completely stopped as all of the electricity flickered off.
I waited, holding my breath. One minute passed, and then two, and still, no power. Five minutes later, I got up from my warm spot on the couch and went to check if the neighbors had power. Opening my front door, I was almost thrown back from the force of the wind. It blew my tangled hair into my face as I checked the houses on my street, only to see the same darkness staring back at me that was inside my own house.
I pushed against the door to close it, fighting against the strong wind before finally shutting it. A chill raced up my spine as I settled back onto the couch, watching the wind blow through my garden, tearing through my pretty flowers that Ryan had planted with me when we moved to try to brighten my spirits.
My phone buzzed beside me then, and I jumped, surprised by the loud ding. I reached for it quickly, hoping to see something from Ryan, but instead, it was a text from Celine.
Cece: How’s the weather there, Ames?
I could almost hear her saying my name. She had come over a few times since we moved—at first to help me unpack all the boxes, and then, she would sit with me for hours in silence. Sometimes, she would look at me, her gaze longing, words on the tip of her tongue, but she would stay quiet, instead settling a hand on her growing belly.
Then, she would come and read at my place. She would just sit on my couch in this very spot and read, even if I didn’t get out of bed. My best friend, who had been expecting her own child, would bring me lunch in bed and curl up next to me, never saying a word as she noisily munched on whatever she had made.
After she had the baby, she stopped coming around. Ryan didn’t want her coming over and upsetting me. We were there at the hospital the day their baby was born. Ryan didn’t ask me to go when we got the call that she was in labor, leaving the decision entirely up to me. I often wondered if he was nervous to ask or if he didn’t think I could handle seeing her healthy baby.
I just wanted to be there for my friend, for my sister-in-law—for my innocent, little goddaughter, Summer. Celine and Ace made Ryan and me her godparents. They were hesitant at first, barely meeting our gazes in the hospital as they held their perfectly healthy baby girl.
And then, Ace walked over with the tiny pink bundle cradled in his arms. I remembered sinking back into the chair and shaking my head, the thought of holding her unbearable. He stood before Ryan, whose grip on my hand was crushing.
I caught a glimpse of her sweet, sleeping face, and my heart melted into a puddle in my chest. The tears that flowed immediately after didn’t stop until we got home that night.
Somehow, the child quieted the ache in my chest to a dull throb in that one moment, but after, she only caused a growing anger to boil in my blood. Anger at God. Anger at Celine. Anger at Ryan. And so, Ryan stopped them from coming around. It had been two months since I saw them last.
I ignored the text, finding peace in the darkness when I turned back to the window and watched the rain.
We had tried again.
Over and over and nothing . It didn’t matter how many times we fucked— I couldn’t fall pregnant. Every month, we held our breath as I took the test—waited inside our bathroom, staring at a stick, begging it to change our lives—and every time it came out negative, I felt more and more like a failure.
We tried for six months until eventually, I couldn’t handle it anymore—the excitement, the longing, then the disappointment. Ryan remained optimistic, but I just knew something was broken in me or God was punishing me for failing to protect the first baby He gifted me with.
A knock at the front door startled me from my thoughts, and I slowly got up, feeling my bones creak with the movement. I checked the peephole, only to see Ryan, and immediately, I threw the door open.
My drenched husband stared at me with tired, blue eyes, his shoulders hunched, hair dripping into his face as he stood there, looking completely defeated.
“Hey, spitfire,” he whispered, the corners of his mouth lifting into a small, barely-there smile.
“Hey.” He stepped into me, pulling me into the warmth of his arms. I buried my face into his chest, inhaling the comforting scent of rain and him .
“I’ve been worried about you.” His chest vibrated through me. I jumped when lightning lit up the sky and thunder clapped above the roof of our home.
“I’m okay.” I often wondered if he knew how dark my thoughts were sometimes, if he felt the darkness in my soul, any of my pain, or if a mother carried all the pain of losing her child while the husband got to move on. Didn’t help that we didn’t talk anymore.
“I missed you today.” He kissed the top of my head, and I melted, his love pouring into my cold heart, breathing life back into me.
“I hate when you leave me,” I admitted softly, ashamed of the weakness in my voice. The woman he fell in love with would never have shown weakness—not his spitfire. She was strong, her soul just as fiery as her hair. This version of me… neither of us recognized her.
“I wish I could take this pain away from you.” He walked us into the foyer and closed the door, the loud fall of rain softening now that I was back inside and the door was closed again.
I pulled back to look at him in the darkness, only to see pain—heart-wrenching pain—in his expression. “Don’t you feel it, too?” I whispered, my voice cracking.
“Of course, but we have to move on, Ames. We have to keep trying.”
I pushed away from him, my hands smacking into his chest hard enough to make him flinch. “I can’t handle moving on, Ryan!” I screamed at him. “I’m suffocating with the reminder of failing to keep my baby alive!”
“ Our baby, Amber,” he corrected me, his voice growing stern. “ Our baby—not just yours. We both can’t sit here in darkness and mope. Life is too beautiful. We have to get back into a routine. You need to get out of this house. Our families are worried. It’s been a year, baby girl.”
His words stung worse than the one time my mother slapped me for swearing when I was sixteen. I took a step back from him and tried to think past the loud pulsing in my ears as my blood boiled with anger and rage.
“Am I just supposed to forget?” I asked him. He looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. I glared at him. “Do you really want me to wake up in the morning, get all dressed up, and go to work as if I didn’t hold our dead child in my arms because I failed to keep her alive?!” I clenched my fists at my sides, my whole body trembling.
“No, you’re not supposed to forget, baby. But you’re also not supposed to be this barely alive shell of the woman I married. Of the woman I love .” He stepped closer to me, his chest touching mine. My lips trembled. My chest heaved.
“If you can’t handle me grieving over our child, then leave and go be with someone who’s more alive for you,” I snapped at him, throwing anything at him to make him hurt, to make him feel the pain I felt on a daily basis.
He laughed. I stared at him incredulously as I watched him throw his head back and laugh before he wrapped his hands around my upper arms. “Don’t you dare try to push me away,” he told me, his words fierce. I swallowed thickly. He rested his forehead on mine, and a tear rolled down my cheek. “I love you, Amber. I vowed to love you in sickness and in health.” My bottom lip trembled as more tears flooded my vision, and I didn’t know whether to cry or scream. “I love everything about you. Nothing you do could ever scare me away. I’m in it for the long haul, baby—through the good times and the bad. I’m here for it all . I’ve been here, and I’m not going anywhere.”
My anger dissolved some at his soft words and sincere tone, and I dropped my head to his chest, feeling another tear roll down my hot cheek.
“I can’t handle feeling like this anymore,” I suddenly cried, squeezing my eyes shut to stop more tears from falling.
“Like what?” His hands slid up and down my arms, warming my suddenly chilled skin.
“Like a failure.” My shoulders shook with the sobs ripping from my chest, my pain almost crippling me. The tears I’d tried to hold back poured from my eyes.
He wrapped his arms around me, dragging me against him and holding me tight to him. A wail sounded from my lips as he somehow pulled my pain from me, sharing it with me rather than me keeping it as a burden all to myself. “You aren’t a failure, baby. You didn’t fail our child, and you haven’t failed me. Don’t let the darkness consume you. Fight, spitfire. Fight for us… for me. I love you, goddammit, and I fucking need you still.”