Chapter Twenty-Four #2
“We’d been partying and having a good time, and one night, I stayed behind because I wasn’t feeling well.
I thought that maybe I was still coming down from my hangover and told myself I would drink some water and sleep it off until the next day.
I woke up in the middle of the night with the worst cramps I’d ever experienced.
I started bleeding heavily, and I eventually put two and two together when I realized my period had been late.
I went to the hospital, and the doctor confirmed the miscarriage.
“My first thought was to call you, but then… I didn’t.
I felt that it was my fault. I asked the doctor if the partying was what caused it, and she immediately gave me that ‘Bless your heart’ look and a sympathetic pat on the leg.
She told me that she couldn’t say for sure, but drugs and alcohol didn’t help.
“I returned to the hotel and packed my shit while my friends were passed the hell out. I left a note saying that I was homesick and going home, but I never made it home. I wanted to tell you, but my guilt and shame overrode my common sense.”
I wiped away a tear before continuing.
“I sent you that text and said we’d made a mistake by getting married, and I took off.
I spent years dodging accountability by convincing myself that I couldn’t tell you because you had a track record of not handling loss and grief well.
You were about to start your final year of law school, and I didn’t want to mess that up for you.
It was a true enough statement, but the bigger issue was not trusting you with your emotions or mine and not taking responsibility.
“I stayed away all these years because I couldn’t face you, and I hated being home for family events.
Everyone was so fucking happy while I was dying inside, thinking that if I hadn’t fucked up, our kid would be there at the Thanksgiving table or opening an endless amount of presents on Christmas morning.
Eventually, I sought out therapy, and while it helped with the guilt somewhat, it didn’t magically resolve my issues.
I had to put the work in, and that had to start with me coming clean.
So… that’s what happened. I more than likely caused the miscarriage by being reckless, and I was a coward and ran away… I’m sorry.”
Finally, it was out, and that burden I’d been carrying for seven years seemed to dissipate like smoke in the wind.
However, that oh-so brief moment of peace was hauled away when I noticed Grant’s hardened stare.
If looks could kill, I’d be vaporized into ashes.
I reached for his hand and chastised myself for feeling so emotional when he pulled away from me.
I was gripped with fear—fear that everything would play out exactly how I thought it would—he’d never forgive me and would despise me more than ever.
There were too many lies told and too much time lost, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it because his feelings were valid.
I knew about the miscarriage for seven years—over 2,500 days; it was Day One for him.
His voice was strained when he finally said, “I… I need some time,” before leaving me on the porch swing and taking my confession with him.
This is what they mean when they say, “Hope for the best, but plan for the worst.”
* * *
I was awakened by loud thumping and cursing.
I grabbed my phone from the nightstand, shocked that I’d slept so long.
Grant had holed himself up in his office for several hours, leaving me to stew in my uncertainty about the future.
To mitigate the racing thoughts, I took a sleep aid, hoping it’d put me on my ass for a few hours, and by the time I woke up, we could revisit the issue, and he could tell me how he felt.
I sat up in bed and watched Grant make trips back and forth to the closet with an armful of my clothes. The bedroom smelled like alcohol, and if it wasn’t clear that he was hammered, his stumbling into the walls and bumping into the closet’s doorjamb was a dead-ass giveaway.
“What are you doing, Grant?” I asked, clearing the sleep from my voice.
“Packing your fucking shit,” he said, slurring his words. “Y-you’re a fucking liar and a baby killer.”
Fair enough.
“Okay… what else?” I said, inviting him to get it off his chest. His words stung like a motherfucker, but he wasn’t telling me anything I hadn’t already told myself a million times.
“You’re the biggest piece of shit I know.”
I can’t argue with him there.
He threw the clothes with the hangers still attached into an open suitcase on the bed.
“Then you have the fucking nerves to turn this shit on me.”
“G…Mimi and Papa had to stay with you for a few weeks because you were inconsolable when our family dog died, and you turned into an alcoholic when they died. Yeah, a part of me thought you wouldn’t take the news very well and would spiral,” I said softly. “You’re not to blame.”
“Fuck you, Kiyah!” he yelled, shoving the suitcase off the bed.
My heart thumped in my chest when he rounded the foot of the bed.
I’d never witnessed him so visibly angry before.
His hair was skewed in every direction from hours of raking his fingers through it and yanking at the roots.
His face was red and splotchy from rage and alcohol, and the feral look in his eyes activated alarm bells inside me.
“Do you know why I’m a fucking alcoholic?
It’s you!” he yelled. “You’re the fucking reason!
You made vows, and you fucking ghosted me like I didn’t mean shit to you!
You’re a toxic, spoiled bitch who wrecks everything you touch.
Nothing is fucking safe from you! Not me, not our kid—you’re a fucking plague, Kiyah. ”
“Okay… what else?” I asked, voice cracking from his hateful words.
“What else?” he asked, sounding completely flabbergasted. He chuckled ruefully, pulling out a fifth of vodka from his pocket. He took a healthy swig before addressing me again. “You want more, Kiyah?”
“I want you to get everything off your chest,” I replied, fondling the pendant around my neck.
“Fine. The necklace you love from your dead dad wasn’t from him.” I froze. “Dad gave it to Mom when he was simping over her. It was supposed to be a touching memento or some bullshit. She rejected his gift and told him to give it to you instead.”
“You’re lying—you’re drunk and confused.”
“We already established between us that you’re the liar.”
“How would you even know something like that?”
“If you shut your mouth and listen long enough, you’d be shocked at what you might learn.”
He’s lying. He just wants to hurt me.
“I don’t understand why you’re like this. I don’t understand how you can grow up with so much privilege and love and end up being this soulless individual. And more than that, I don’t understand how I fell for it for all these years. You and Mom must come from a long line of witches—”
“Nope,” I said, cutting him off with a shake of my head. “You’re not doing this. I won’t allow you to disrespect our mother like this because your mother decided to check out.”
I rolled out the opposite side of the bed, putting distance between us because if we came to blows, there would be no turning back.
Grant snorted. “Check out. Sure.”
I was confused by his skepticism because we all knew his mother had swallowed a bottle of pills because Dad moved on.
“Grant, you’re upset and have every right to be, but your anger needs to remain on me.
You’re trying to hurt me by bringing up Rory and disrespecting my mother.
You know I don’t play about my mother. I’m a piece of shit, I’m a plague—sure, I’ll take that.
But leave my mother out of this. She loves you like she birthed you herself, and you know that. ”
For a moment, his features softened, and I felt I was getting through the drunken haze until he started sobbing.
“I want you out of my life, Ki. Y-y-you’ve hurt me for the last fucking time. Do you hear me?”
I nodded and held back my own emotions. “I hear you, Grant.”
“And God knows I fucking love you, but god damn, woman, love isn’t supposed to hurt like this! If you had told me… we could’ve worked it out—”
Maybe… maybe not. That baby-killer comment makes me a little skeptical.
“I’m signing the divorce papers, and I want you gone.”