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I didn’t want a baby.

I wasn’t trying for a baby.

So why do I feel like my whole world just got ripped out from under my feet?

The pain... It’s excruciating. And for the first time since I found out that I miscarried, I actually allow myself to feel it. Let it slide through me, coating my insides. Let it overtake every emotion I have until I’m hunched over on the toilet, silent sobs wrecking my body.

I cry and cry with no end in sight, and then I cry some more.

I let it all out.

The pain of losing River’s child.

The reminder that I’ll never be able to bear one of my own. That I’ll never feel the little kicks in my belly or experience holding my baby for the first time.

The guilt of knowing that I wasn’t ready for this and that despite my grief, there’s also relief. Because no matter how much I want this one day, today is not that day.

And while this thought should be calming, it’s the opposite. It makes me feel that much worse.

“Char,” River calls through the door, followed by the gentle rap of his knuckles against the wood. “Are you okay in there?”

“Yeah, I just need... a minute.” I try to hide the emotion in my voice, to no avail.

“Is there anything I can do?” The defeat in his tone sends a fresh batch of tears flowing past my lashes.

“No, I’m gonna take a quick shower.” I stand from the toilet and flip on the water before he has a chance to reply.

Stepping under the too-warm water moments later, I wash away the remnants of yesterday. I let the grief pour out of me and then watch it swirl down the drain like water. I scrub my body over and over until my skin is red and raw from the friction. And then I do it all over again.

When I finally exit the shower several minutes later, I feel marginally better. Not back to my normal self but as close as I think I’m going to get for the time being.

Determined not to let River see me like this, I take a few more minutes of solitude, allowing my eyes to dry and some of the puffiness to subside before I finally exit the bathroom.

I find River at the far side of the room. He’s sitting on the windowsill, looking out over the ground below. He turns as soon as he hears me enter, forcing a smile to his lips, though it does nothing to hide the worry in his eyes.

“You okay?” He watches me move farther into the room wearing the T-shirt he had on yesterday.

Considering I didn’t exactly have the chance to pack a bag, the only clothes I have are the ones I came here in. Luckily, the hospital sent me home with a little care package filled with pads, cleaning wipes, and a disposable toothbrush, which I specifically asked for, and thank goodness I did because brushing my teeth damn near brought me back to life.

“I don’t have any clothes.” I tug at the bottom of his shirt.

“Lyric and Maisie stopped by this morning and brought you a bag.” He gestures toward the small foyer area where I see a small gray duffel bag that I recognize as one of Maisie’s. “They wanted to see you, but I refused to wake you up because I knew how badly you needed to rest.”

“What time were they here?”

“A couple of hours ago.” He shifts so that he’s able to get a better look at me but otherwise remains seated.

“What time are you heading back to North Carolina?” I ask, grabbing the duffel bag from the floor before setting it on top of the bed.

Unzipping it, I pull out a clean pair of underwear, a pair of my favorite lounge pants, and an oversized T-shirt that I oftentimes sleep in. It’s like Maisie knew exactly what to pack that would make me comfortable. God, I love her.

“Not until you’re feeling better.” He watches me pull his shirt over my head before quickly replacing it with the one Maisie packed for me.

“I am... feeling better, I mean.”

“Is that why your eyes are swollen from crying?” He doesn’t miss a thing.

“Sometimes you just need to let it out.” I shrug, avoiding his gaze as I collect my underwear and pants before dipping back inside the bathroom to change. Given that I also have to put a new pad in my clean underwear and dispose of the other, it’s not exactly something I want an audience for.