40. Distance And Facts
DISTANCE AND FACTS
“Mom,” Luca said the next morning, clearing his throat that threatened to close.
“Luca,” his mother said. “I love that I’m hearing from you more often.”
Her voice was happy. Light. Carefree.
Like she was dialing back her excitement. Just like he’d been doing too.
It hadn’t helped though.
“It is nice,” he said.
“Do you have any news on the adoption? How are things going? Not much longer. Two months, right?”
Pain squeezed his chest until he wasn’t sure the words would come at all. He was raw. Hollowed out. The night before had left him scraped down to the bone.
“It’s not going to happen,” he said flatly.
“Oh no,” his mother breathed. “I’m so sorry. Did she change her mind?”
“No.” He bowed his head, pressing his forehead into his palm, grounding himself against the arm of the chair hoping it would make all his aches go away. “The baby didn’t make it.”
Silence stretched across the line.
He focused on breathing. On not breaking.
“I’m so sorry, Luca,” his mother said softly. “What happened? Do you want to talk about it?”
Maybe it was easier to say it clinically. To frame it the way he always did, with distance and facts.
“Taylor went into labor yesterday,” he said. “There was no heartbeat. The cord was wrapped around his neck.” His voice stayed steady. Professional. “Sometimes that just happens.”
The words landed between them, heavy and final.
He heard her inhale sharply over the line, a quiet catch of worry that made his chest tighten even more.
“I—I’m so sorry, Luca,” she said again, softer this time. “I can’t imagine… I just…”
“It’s okay,” he cut in quickly, almost too quickly. “I’m fine. I’m handling it.”
But the cold and relentless truth was a weight pressing down on him, almost turning him numb. His hands itched to clench, his stomach twisted, and every memory of last night—the sterile lights, the small body, Taylor’s tears—threatened to spill over, consuming him again.
He couldn’t go down that road again.
It was what he’d told himself last night.
“No, you’re not handling it. Not alone.”
He gritted his teeth. “Really,” he forced out. “It’s part of the job. Things like this? They happen. You learn to move forward.”
His mother hesitated. “Luca. I don’t have a lot of words. I wish I was there. I’m glad you’ve got Gabriela. How is she? Was she working when it happened?”
“Yes. She was called down to the ER to assist until they could get Taylor up to the maternity ward. She called me and we stayed with Taylor until the birth last night.”
He couldn’t talk about it anymore. Couldn’t relive it even though it was still so fresh in his memory.
“I’m sure she stayed with you last night.”
“I told her no. I wanted to be alone.”
“No,” his mother said, her voice firm through the sadness. “I’m not doing this again, Luca. I’m not there to see you. To watch over you. To worry again. You can’t do this to yourself.”
“I don’t need anyone to tell me how to handle this. It’s not the same as Zoe dying.” It was on the tip of his tongue to snap those words, but he’d held it back. Barely.
“No,” his mother said again. “In some ways I worry this is worse. That what you lost was hope. Hope is one of the hardest things to accept and then have it snatched away. I’m not wrong.”
“You’re not,” he agreed, closing his eyes and leaning back on the couch, his face lifted to the ceiling.
Her concern, her soft, careful voice, made it harder to keep up the mask. He wanted to tell her how hollow he felt, how unfair it seemed, how the ache in his chest wasn’t something he could just brush aside. But he couldn’t. Not yet.
But her annoyance, her frustration, her anxiety over him locking himself up again. That he could handle better. That he could defend. That he could stand up for.
“Then don’t shut everyone out again.”
“I’m not shutting anyone out,” he said. “I’m doing what I need to do. As a doctor, it’s not the first time I’ve dealt with a death or something terrible happening to a patient. That’s what this is.”
Even if the words he said were a lie.
One his mother wasn’t going to believe, he was positive.
“Luca,” his mother said, sighing. “I don’t buy for one minute that Gabriela was fine with not being with you last night. Not when you’ve talked about how well things were going with the two of you. How invested she was in it all too.”
“She had to work this morning, Mom. She didn’t leave the hospital until after midnight. If she had come home with me, neither one of us would have gotten much sleep. She understands.”
Those words were a lie too.
He’d seen the hurt in her eyes. The pain that he caused her.
But he couldn’t take the words back. He didn’t even want to and that might have been worse.
What he needed was to come home and grieve in silence. In solitude.
To break down without the worry of those who loved him. To not feel the concern that would be in their eyes.
He was entitled to that night. To a few days.
He’d talk to Gabriela again. Probably today at some point. She’d call like she always did.
“I want to argue with you about that, but I can’t. I don’t know her well enough.”
“Then trust me. I’ll be fine. I need a few days. I’m more concerned about Taylor and how she’s going to handle this all.”
“You always do what is right for your patients and I’m positive you will this time.”
“I will. I need to go. I just wanted to let you know.”
There was silence again, like his mother didn’t want to hang up. “I’ll check in with you later. Is that okay?”
“It’s fine,” he said and hung up a moment later.
What he needed to do was to continue with his routine. He went to his room to change into workout gear and go to the gym.
But when he opened up his drawer to get a T-shirt, it caught on the picture he’d tucked in there of him and Zoe.
To torture himself, he pulled it out and stared at his late wife. Her smile. A time when they had such a bright future ahead of them.
They were planning their family, never imagining that it wouldn’t come true.
Or that she’d be gone from his life.
He threw the picture against the wall, the glass shattering on the floor.
Just a stupid reaction. Not even called for.
Now he’d have to clean it up.
He breathed in, then again. Let out a swish of air, then sat on his bed.
His phone was in his pocket; he pulled it out, and scrolled through pictures from years ago.
Pictures of him and Zoe.
Ones he hadn’t looked at in years.
To get to them though, he had to go through all the ones he’d taken of Gabriela.
The silly ones. The serious ones. The ones where she said she loved him.
No, the hope wasn’t gone.
It couldn’t be. He refused to let it.
He found one of his favorite pictures of Zoe on their honeymoon. Years of pictures in his hand.
Years of memories.
They didn’t hurt though.
Not looking at them like he’d thought they might.
“We never planned it this way,” he whispered, the tears falling off his cheeks.
His thumb ran across her face on his phone. “I met someone. I know you’d really like her. Hell, you’d love her. She makes me laugh so hard.”
He knuckled a tear away. “I know you want me to be happy, Zoe. I was.” He shook his head. “No. I am. I can be again. I’m not giving up on hope. I just can’t. I hope you understand. And know how much I loved you, but it’s time I moved on.”
He kissed the picture of his wife, closed his phone and set it down, then shed another round of tears, knowing that it was a step that he needed to take.
One he never had before, and it was long overdue.
He had Gabriela now.
He’d make sure she knew it too.