9. Sutton
Sutton
“Icannot eat another bite.” I pat my stomach and lean back in my chair.
Navy’s completely frozen, staring at me. “I have never seen someone eat so much food in my whole life.”
“In my defense, I might have missed lunch today.” I stand and gather the used plates.
“And most likely breakfast too,” Greer adds.
“Maybe,” I mumble.
The kitchen feels warm in that late-evening way. The oven heat lingers, wine glasses sit half-empty, and the faint hum of the television waits for us to start the next movie. Nothing says Halloween like a Friday night with your girls, watching as many horror movies as your nerves can stand.
Greer and Navy barely asked me anything all night. Which is more unsettling than if they had. Mostly, they’ve communicated solely in strange looks and hip bumps. Even now, Navy’s doing some bizarre eye thing, and Greer keeps shaking her head.
“You two are being weird.” I fill the sink with soapy water.
“We’re being weird?” Navy scoffs. “Hello, pot, meet kettle.”
“Okay, we’re all being weird.” I grab a plate and dunk it in the water, anticipation crawling up my spine. “So which of you is going to start?”
We move into our usual assembly line without discussion. I wash. Navy rinses. Greer dries. It’s muscle memory at this point, the three of us shoulder to shoulder at the sink like we’ve done a hundred times.
“Should we start where we left off at Ground Up, about what happened between you and Brandon?” Navy asks casually. “Or would you rather talk about how you’re clearly in love with Hunter?”
My hands pause in the soapy water. “Let’s start with Brandon,” I say evenly.
Greer’s towel stills.
“The summer my dad got sick,” I say, “not the first diagnosis, the last one.” The words feel rehearsed. Neat. Contained.
Silence settles between us. My hands move the sponge around and around and around.
“We pored over survival rates, mapped follow-up appointments on the calendar. But . . . treatment didn’t work, and the doctors didn’t give him much time.” I shrug lightly. “I handled it the way I handle everything. Research. Lists. Schedules.”
Control.
I don’t say the word aloud.
“But really, we were just . . . waiting.” I squeeze out the sponge.
“Brandon and I were strained. We’d realized over the years that our goals didn’t align anymore and that we were living separate lives.
He wanted to move to New York. I wanted to stay here.
” I set the sponge down and lean against the counter.
“We’d been together long enough that breaking up didn’t feel dramatic.
It felt inevitable. Like something adults do when they realize they’ve outgrown each other. ”
Navy’s eyes soften. “But you loved him.”
“I did.” I dry my hands slowly. “Just not in the way that saves a relationship that was already over.”
I inhale.
“Then I found out I was pregnant.”
Greer’s breath catches. Navy grips the counter.
“It wasn’t planned,” I say. “And definitely wasn’t convenient.
But it wasn’t a disaster either.” I let out a quiet, humorless laugh.
“I stared at the test in my bathroom, calculating due dates before I’d even processed the second pink line.
I thought maybe . . . maybe this was the thing that would anchor everything.
” My voice lowers. “My dad was slipping away. My relationship was slipping away. But the baby felt like something I could hold on to.”
“Did Brandon know?” Navy asks softly.
“Yes.” I nod. “He was shocked. So was I. Hell, he had already accepted a job in New York and was packed to leave that weekend. We didn’t know how we would raise a baby, especially being a country apart from each other.
But we talked about it. Really talked. And we decided that even if we weren’t together anymore, we’d figure it out for the baby.
He left for New York, and I kept him updated on the pregnancy. ”
I pick up a plate that’s already clean and rinse it again, wishing I didn’t have to remember the next part.
“Ten days after the positive pregnancy test, my dad passed away. There was so much to do for the funeral, and everyone was so overwhelmed with grief that I decided it was best to keep the pregnancy to myself.”
Greer sets the towel down, stepping next to me, a bank against the raging river of memories inside me.
“Losing my dad made me embrace the baby even more. I read everything. Downloaded apps. I took prenatal vitamins and even stopped drinking coffee.” A small shrug.
“I told myself if I did everything right, this baby would be okay, and the joy from it would carry me through the grief of losing my dad and breaking up with Brandon.”
“And then?” Greer whispers.
I swallow.
“And then one night, I woke up.”
Six years ago.
I wake up from a dull ache in my stomach.
Not sharp or alarming. Just uncomfortable.
I shift onto my side and pull the blanket higher, half-asleep logic telling me it’s nothing.
Cramping is totally normal. I’d read that in about every pregnancy book and magazine.
After a few minutes, I drift back into a restless sleep.
A stronger ache jolts me from sleep again, like someone wringing out a towel inside me. I press my palm to my abdomen and breathe through it, counting the way the pregnancy app suggested for stress. Inhale four. Hold four. Exhale four.
Another cramp hits. Even stronger this time. I push myself upright, moving carefully, like sudden motion might make things worse. The room is dark except for the digital glow of the clock. 3:11 a.m.
It’s fine. Everything is fine, I tell myself. Bodies do strange things at night. Maybe it was something I ate for dinner. I swing my legs over the side of the bed—and feel it.
A sticky warmth between my legs.
Not sweat or heat from the blankets. Something else. My stomach drops before my mind catches up.
I stand too fast.
The room tilts.
I steady myself against the dresser and walk to the bathroom, each step slow, like I can outwait what I already know.
The light flicks on. Harsh and unforgiving.
I look down.
Blood.
Enough that I can’t rationalize it away.
For a second, everything inside me goes very, very quiet.
This isn’t part of the plan.
I grip the edge of the counter and stare at my reflection. My face looks pale. Detached. Like I’m watching someone else. This could be a normal part of pregnancy. Some women bleed. I read that. I grab my phone with shaking hands and search what this could mean.
Another cramp doubles me over. And that’s when the logic breaks through the pain. I’m losing my baby.
“No,” I whisper to the empty bathroom. “No, no, no. This can’t be happening.”
I tell myself to breathe. To wait. That it will stop.
It doesn’t.
At that moment, standing alone in a too-bright light, gripping the marble counter, I understand something I’ve never understood before.
I did everything right. And it still wasn’t enough. Not enough to heal my heart after my dad’s passing. Not enough to hold my relationship together. And not enough to keep this baby I loved and wanted more than anything.
My hands move before my brain does.
I call Hunter. He wraps me in a blanket. He carries me to the car and drives to the hospital.
The nurse tries to make him leave, but I reach for his hand. “No, please. He can stay.”
They get me changed into a hospital gown, insert an IV, and the doctor comes in.
“How far along are you?” the doctor asks.
“I’m not sure. I-I just found out a few weeks ago, but then my dad died and I—” Sobs rack my body.
Hunter sits on the bed, hand settling at the base of my neck, his thumb brushing gently against my skin as though he can feel the storm brewing beneath my ribs.
“Take your time, Miss Bradley,” the doctor reassures me.
Numbness creeps along my body. The doctor says something about tests, but I mostly hear buzzing.
It feels like an eternity. Waiting. Always waiting.
When the doctor comes back, I already know what he’s going to tell me. I think I knew it from the first cramp.
“Miss Bradley, I’m sorry, but you’ve lost the baby.”
I just nod.
The kitchen feels too still now. Too small.
“In a matter of weeks, my dad was gone. Brandon was gone. And . . . so was the baby.”
My heart surges against the walls I’ve kept around it, finally breaking free. Tears run down my cheeks, warm and unrelenting. The kitchen is so quiet, I’m not even sure if Navy and Greer are still beside me.
Greer steps behind me, slips her arms around my waist, and pulls me into her. I turn and bury my face in the curve of her shoulder while Navy’s hand rests on my upper back.
Minutes pass, and soon Greer’s shirt is soaked through, but neither she nor Navy say anything. They hold steadfast and let me cry six years’ worth of buried emotions. Eventually, my sobbing slows, and I stutter through each breath, coming back to my body.
I’ve kept my emotions locked away so long, I forgot what it feels like to feel.
I squeeze Greer, sniffle loudly, and pull away.
“Sutton,” Greer says, “does anyone else know about this?”
“Only Hunter.”
“Why?” Navy palms my cheek and turns my face toward her. “Why would you choose to go through this without more support?”
Stepping away from their cocoon, I pad into the living room and snuggle into the corner of the sectional. Navy ninja jumps over the back of the couch and plops next to me. I laugh as Greer tosses us a light blue blanket and sits on my other side.
“Losing Dad was hell enough.” My heart beats against my sternum, each beat reviving the bruised and battered organ.
“I didn’t want to add something else to my family’s plate so soon after losing Dad.
So, I kept the miscarriage to myself, and then time passed.
And even though it’s been six years, I still haven’t been able to talk about it. ”
“Until now.” Greer squeezes my hand, and I nod.
I sink back into the crevice between cushions and pull the blanket over my shoulders. My heart is wrung out. Relief settles in first. The rest, the messier feelings, I’m not ready to name. But for now, it feels good not to hide beneath lies and half-truths.
“Sutton,” Navy says. “I can’t even imagine the amount of pain you went through.” She rubs her hand over my thigh, soothing in that motherly way she has.
“How?” Greer asks as she tucks herself even closer to me and lays her head on my shoulder.
I know what she’s asking. How did I make it through all that pain?
“That’s not a question I can answer,” I admit. “The truth is, I’m not sure I ever really got through it. I merely got good at hiding it, burying it down as deep as I could get it until, after a while, it was only a memory.”
“Did you ever go to therapy?” Navy asks.
“No, and trust me,” I pull my blanket up under my chin, wishing I could disappear beneath it. “I know I should have. I was . . . I was just trying to survive. And after a while, it felt like it didn’t matter anymore.”
Greer humphs and draws my blanket away from my face. “It’s never too late, Sutton. We aren’t meant to process such deep pain alone.”
“I know,” I say, “but I had Hunter. That’s why I called him.
Hunter has always been the one person I run to when everything falls apart.
Without him, I don’t know how I could have survived that first year.
He showed up when I couldn’t get out of bed, sat with me through appointments I didn’t want to go to.
Made sure I was eating and sleeping most days. ”
I pause, tracing the blanket’s pattern. “With Dad gone, the business gave me something to focus on, and Mom needed my help. I think on some level, she knew that my moving back in with her was just as much for me as it was for her.”
Navy tucks her feet under the couch cushion. “Your mom never sensed something more was going on with you?”
“I’m sure she did,” I say. “It’s not every day you find your daughter crying near the baby section at the store. But she never asked, and I never said anything. It’s hard to save anyone else when you’re drowning in a sea of your own pain.”
Duke, Greer’s dog, pushes under my legs and rests his head on my thigh. I smile and pet behind his ears. His deep, brown eyes meet mine.
“This explains why you always seem so closed off,” Navy says.
I nudge her with my thigh. “I try not to be, but I’ve never really had friends like you two. And it’s not like this is something to casually bring up over brunch.”
Navy shifts closer, taking my hands in hers. “Most things aren’t. You bring it up anyway. Okay?”
A tear slips down my cheek. “Okay.”
“Thank you for trusting us enough to let us all the way in,” Navy says. “I know it wasn’t easy.”
I sniffle. “It wasn’t.”
Navy reaches for my hand. “You don’t have to carry anything alone anymore.”
My throat tightens. “I’m starting to realize that.”
“We’re always here for you,” Greer says.
Emotion clogs my throat. The day the three of us met at Ground Up, there was an instant connection. For so long, I’ve kept my guard up, not wanting to be hurt again. But now? I’m so thankful to have them. Thankful I can share my pain with women who care about me.
“I know,” I say and pick up the TV remote. I’m done feeling sad and ready to just be with my girls. “Ready for another scary movie?”
Forty minutes later, we’re huddled together on the couch, hugging our knees with blankets pulled up to our chins and trying unsuccessfully to calm our pounding hearts.
“They better not go in that shed,” Navy says, jaw tense.
“Do you think the murderer is in there?” Greer’s eyes widen with fear.
Bang! A loud thump sounds at the door, and we all scream. We whip our heads around and stare at the front door as if someone will come bursting inside at any moment.
“Greer?” Navy crawls onto the couch and braces her hands along the back, poised to jump into action. “Are you expecting someone?”
“No,” Greer says. “Only you girls.”
We exchange fearful looks.
Greer stands, sets her blanket off to the side, and walks toward the door.
Navy reaches a hand forward to stop her. “What are you doing? You’re not going to open it, are you? Haven’t we learned our lesson from all the damn movies we’ve watched?”
“What would you like me to do,” Greer says over her shoulder, “ignore whoever it is?”
“Um, yes.” Navy is now whisper-yelling. “That’s exactly what you should do.”
My heartbeats pick up, feeding off Navy’s fear. “Maybe Navy is right.”
Greer steps up to her door, Navy right behind her. Greer peers one eye through the peephole. “Oh. My. God.” She twists the doorknob.
“Don’t!” I yell, but it’s too late. Greer pulls open the door, and a cool autumn breeze whooshes in.
A few papers flutter off the table, and I tuck my hair behind my ears.
Navy and Greer pause, gripping onto each other and taking tentative steps onto the front porch.
Duke jumps up next to me on the couch, shaking like a leaf.
“It’s okay,” I tell him.
Duke nuzzles in and rests his head over my arm.
“What the actual hell,” Navy says. “That definitely wasn’t there when I got here.”