Page 2 of Can’t Let You Go (Ivy Ridge #3)

“Can you come here?” I whisper. My nurse nods, patting me on the leg as she stands, giving me some privacy. “I’m at the hospital.”

“Of course, I’ll leave right now. Which hospital? What’s going on?”

In the background I hear Isaac again. “I’ll go grab a bag for you,” he says, and his hurried footsteps carry through the phone.

“I’m—” I choke on the words. “I’m having a miscarriage. I need to have a procedure, and Brad’s at a work conference.” I don’t tell her about the lack of communication, that can come out later.

“Oh, Fallon. I’ll be there as soon as possible. When are they taking you back?” Her voice oozes sympathy, and I know I’m making the right choice.

“Soon,” I say.

“If I’m not there before you go in, I’ll be there when you wake up. Tell them I’m coming so they’ll let me in your room, okay?”

I nod, though she can’t see me.

“I’ve got you. Where’s Pres?”

“Spending the night at a friend's house. This is her first sleepover. I’m such a bad mom, Meg,” I cry. “She’s only four. She’s probably not ready for this.”

“She’s okay. Text me the number of who she’s staying with, and let her know I’ll text her so she has my information while you’re in the procedure.” Isaac is back, whispering something to Megan as she talks to me.

A car door opens and closes. “I’m leaving my house now. I’ll be there soon. Do you want to stay on the phone?”

“No, I’m okay. I’m going to try and relax a bit.”

“Okay.”

We hang up, and I send Sarah’s number to Megan. I give Sarah a heads up that Meg is going to be calling her, to which she responds with a heart and some more kind words.

When Pam comes back in, I tell her Megan will be here and that I want her there when I wake up. She tells me they still can’t find an active insurance for me and my heart sinks a little bit more.

I send one final text, this time to Brad.

I don’t want to tell him I’ve lost the baby over a text, but I tell him to call me and that it’s an emergency.

The message is marked as delivered and then read.

I get a small glimmer of hope, needing the comfort only my husband can bring as the typing bubbles appear and disappear as fast they appeared.

Seconds later, the status changes, letting me know his phone is on do not disturb.

My heart drops, a sinking sensation settling in my gut.

I’m in pain, my baby is gone, I’m alone, and he won’t even call me back?

It’s almost like I’m numb. The reality is too raw, too painful to even think about, so I shut down.

I can’t process the loss of my baby and the way my husband is treating me right now, so it’s almost easier to avoid it all together.

My senses are groggy as I wake. The world is hazy and my body is heavy.

Something squeezes my palm, warmth settling on my skin.

Everything comes back to me as my senses slowly return.

My eyes flutter open, taking in the small, dimly lit hospital room.

I flick my gaze to the left where Megan sits.

She’s perched in the cushioned chair, but half of her body is resting on the bed.

“Hey.” My voice is scratchy as I wake up. My lower abdomen is sore and crampy, an unwelcome reminder of the loss.

Megan sits up at the sound of my voice. “Hey,” she says, her voice sad and empathetic.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, heavy sadness washing over my body. “I shouldn’t have called you. It’s so late.”

“Stop that right now,” she scolds. “You have nothing to be sorry about. I’m glad I can be here for you, but I wish it was under better circumstances.”

I nod, squeezing her hand. Megan has always been there for me, ever since my second year of college.

We were randomly assigned to each other as roommates, and the rest is history.

It’s been too long since I’ve seen her, probably a few months.

She lives an hour away from me in a small town called Ivy Ridge and is soon starting her residency in family medicine. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Not long. They just brought you in. He said they woke you up as soon as the procedure was done, but you’ve been sleeping since. Sarah texted me. Pres is fine.”

I nod, thankful for the update on my daughter. I vaguely recall the doctor waking me up and nurses moving me over to a new bed, but barely. “Do you know if Brad has called back?” I ask, though, I think I know the answer.

“I didn’t see any missed calls,” she says mournfully. “Is he on a plane home?”

I huff. “I don’t know.”

“Fallon…” Megan drawls. “Where is he? He should be here.”

“He’s at a work conference in Orlando. He won’t answer my calls, and all my texts have been left on read, or I get one-word responses. I told him it was an emergency, but I didn’t want to text him that I lost the baby. He read the message and still didn’t call. ”

“I’m going to beat the shit out of him.” Megan nearly vibrates with anger. She’s never been a huge fan of Brad, even during college. She has always tolerated him, but I suppose her not liking him maybe should have been a sign.

“It’s fine,” I say, though I don’t believe the words. “Maybe he had a work emergency.”

“How is this fine, Fallon? I get that he’s across the country.

I get that he’s at a work conference. But to read a message from your wife after she tells you it’s an emergency and still not call?

” She leans back in the chair. Her blonde hair is up in a haphazard bun, pieces falling out to frame her face. “That, I don’t get.”

“Me either. I couldn’t even get a new insurance card from him.

They ran my insurance card like four or five times, and it kept coming up as inactive,” I explain, that sinking sensation settling deep in my gut as I say the words out loud.

Could the fact that he’s not answering have something to do with the insurance?

Megan doesn’t say anything, but I can tell based on the look on her face that she has a theory as well.

“Let’s not worry about that now. I’m sure he has an updated card, and they can backdate it so it gets covered.” She waves her hand in the air flippantly as there’s a knock on the door.

I snuggle into the couch, wrapped up in a fuzzy cream colored blanket. Megan left about twenty minutes ago to pick up Presley after making sure I wasn’t in any pain and had water at my side.

My head is spinning, trying to process all the events from last night.

Brad still has not called me back, nor sent even a text to check in.

I lost my baby.. I dreamed of bringing my new baby home, greeting Presley at the door while my mom stood behind her, taking photos of Pres meeting her new sibling.

Something that won’t be happening now. I never imagined this outcome.

I’m not sure what this will mean for our marriage.

It doesn’t exactly bode well for him at the moment.

I look down at my bare ring finger, the place where my wedding band and engagement ring usually sit.

They put my rings in a little bag before they took me back for the procedure and I have yet to put them back on.

A key clicks in the front door, alerting me to Megan and Presley’s arrival. I’m excited to see my baby girl, and hope maybe she can help ease some of my pain.

“Megan? Presley?” I call when there isn’t the familiarity of Presley’s energy through the house. Instead, I’m greeted with heavy footsteps.

Brad appears in my line of sight, dressed in his suit and tie, like he’s heading to work.

“Brad?” I ask, my voice breaking in relief.

He came. He cares. All my previous negative thoughts of him fly out the window as I shift to a sitting position.

He must have rushed home the second he saw my message that I was in the hospital, right?

“Fallon, what are you doing here?” Brad retorts, his voice almost… accusatory. I sit further forward on the couch, unwrapping myself from the blanket.

“Wh-what do you mean?” I inhale a shaky breath. “I tried calling you, tried texting you. You didn’t come home to see me? To help me?”

“God, you’re so lazy. You can’t even be bothered to get off the couch and do anything.

No wonder why you can’t lose all the extra weight.

” Brad scoffs, his face wrinkled in disgust as he takes in my appearance.

Where did this come from? What is he talking about?

I mean, I know I have gained a lot of weight since having Pres, and he’s mentioned dieting and working out a few times, but is now really the time to bring it up?

“Brad, I… I was in the hospital last night.”

“I met someone else.” He speaks over me, running one hand through his hair, the other he holds up in front of him, halting me from speaking more. My gaze falls to his left hand. He isn’t wearing his wedding ring.

His words strike me. A painful ache spears through my heart, like a bullet being torn through the muscle with no exit wound.

“Oh,” I respond lamely, because what does a person say to that? Has he even processed that I told him I was in the hospital? Something he should have known after reading the text messages I sent him?

“Her name is Trixie. We met on a business trip last year. We’ve decided we want to be together.”

Only then do I notice the empty duffle bags at his feet.

It’s like my brain can’t process any words he’s saying. I only recognize the empty bags at his feet. “Why are the bags empty? What are you doing? I—Brad, what is happening?”

He exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “I can’t believe I need to lay this out for you,” he mumbles under his breath. “Fallon, I’m leaving you.”

“But I need you, Presley needs you.” I clutch at my stomach, the place where our baby was only hours ago, and is now empty. “I had a miscarriage, Brad.”

Brad doesn’t seem surprised or even hurt by this news. He simply nods. “It’s better that way.”

“It’s better that way?” I shriek. “How is it better? I’m being ripped apart piece by piece. My body aches, hurts from the loss of my baby, my heart is cracked wide open, and now my husband is telling me he’s leaving me for someone else. How is that better ?”

“It’s better, because now you only have to be a lackluster parent to one child. I never should have agreed to get you pregnant again. Not after seeing the way you are with Presley. She’s too dependent on you. I can’t stand how whiny she is; you made her that way. She’s just like you.”

“She’s four!” I shout, my throat burning against the words.

How could he say such cruel things of his own flesh and blood—his own daughter?

“Of course she’s going to whine and be dependent on her mother!

I’m a stay-at-home mom, I spend every hour of every day with her.

I love her more than anyone. How can you say these things, Brad? ”

“Exactly,” Brad says through gritted teeth. He’s unbearably calm. “You loved her more than you ever loved me. Shouldn’t you love your husband more? You should have chosen me!”

I don’t speak, don’t even know what to say. Am I really that horrible of a mother that I pushed away my own husband?

“You’ll hear from my lawyers.” With that, he grabs the bags at his feet, and heads down the hall to our bedroom. My bedroom.

I hear the opening and closing of drawers and closet doors but choose to shut my brain off. His footsteps come closer until he steps in front of me. He doesn’t say anything as he leaves his wedding ring on the coffee table and throws his duffle over his shoulder.

Once he’s gone, I break again. Tears stream down my cheeks in rivulets.

He’s right. I could have paid more attention to him and been a better wife.

I could have done more, been there for him more.

I could have lost weight, could have… I can’t even list all of the things I could have done, because now, I lost my chance.

I rise from the couch and slowly walk through the house.

My body aches with even the smallest of movements.

Every step is a reminder of the loss of my baby, of the way my life just changed so drastically.

My heart no longer feels as though it’s being shredded from the inside out. Now, it’s empty. Like a shell.

I make my way into the bedroom, to where there is still the faint scent of his cologne. I slowly get into the bed, which I’ve never slept comfortably in after Brad insisted we buy a memory foam mattress. Pulling the covers up over my head, I start to sob.

Megan and Presley arrive home shortly after, having stopped somewhere to pick up breakfast. I put on a brave face for my daughter and best friend, only breaking down later in my best friend's arms.

I pretend it’s all a dream. Maybe it’s a horrible nightmare, one I’ll wake up from and roll over to find my husband still in bed with me, cradling me in his arms. He’ll kiss me on the head, and splay his hand over my stomach, caressing where our baby grows inside me.

But he won’t.

It’s not a dream.

The divorce papers arrive a week later.