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Sarah eyed the paper-wrapped gift. Did she dare open it?

Heart quivering, she slid aside the tape and was soon staring at a toy koala, the stitched smile unable to raise one from her.

Oh. Her eyes filled, as she caressed the oversized gray ears that the little one this was intended for would never touch.

Her baby. Her lost baby. Dan’s lost baby.

Their broken baby, their broken dreams, dreams that—according to the doctor—might never come to life.

Bek couldn’t have known how much something intended to bless would hurt.

She drew in a desperate breath, but new sobs clamped her chest. She couldn’t do this. So she abandoned the stuffed toy on the dining table and stumbled to the bathroom.

* * *

They might’ve won, but the locker room held a heaviness similar to a loss.

That’s what happened when they won games while they were out of playoff contention.

He’d heard the murmurs, heard the disgruntled fans, knew people weren’t happy with him, but still the truth refused to spill.

He was counting down the hours he had to interact with people before their season was officially done and they could escape to start their summer.

Part of him wished he hadn’t returned. He couldn’t escape the feeling that people blamed him for not showing up last week, for letting them down.

He still hadn’t told anyone. Management had only said, “Family emergency” to his teammates, while he still hadn’t responded to messages from Brendan Jordansen and Marc Valesky, those he considered closest to him on the team.

Marc sidled up to him. Stripped of his goaltender gear he looked half his size. “Good to have you back. Everything okay?”

Dan nodded.

“Is Sarah alright?”

His throat clamped. She was doing better than him, a powerhouse of strength. Maybe that was because she didn’t care as much about the loss of the baby.

“Dizzy?”

Dan refocused at his nickname. “She’s been sick.” He coughed as if to reiterate it.

Sure enough, Marc backed away. “Are you sure you should be back?”

He shrugged, tempted to shake his head. Then figured that was hardly the way to alleviate concern. “Apparently you guys need me,” he tried to joke.

“Yeah, we needed you last week, man,” Matt Reynolds called, obviously eavesdropping.

Guilt strung his chest tight. He knew he couldn’t blame himself, but the barb stung all the same. “And here was I thinking you’d be able to manage just one game.”

One of the team’s rentals, brought in to improve their chances at making playoffs, rose. His eyes narrowed as he muttered something, before Matt told him to shut up.

Dan’s stomach tensed. Fighting with his teammates was no way to solve anything.

They’d probably back down if they knew the reason for his absence.

But still, another part of him didn’t want to expose himself to their pity.

How could he play the role of top defenseman for his team if they caught him crying, like he probably would after that admission?

No. He braced, his jaw tense. He just had to tough it out, get through these last games, clear out his locker for the season and come back next year to try again. He hoped.

He kept his eyes closed and feigned sleep during the plane trip home, avoiding conversation.

When it landed, he gathered his stuff, and soon escaped to the parking lot.

Among the BMWs, Audis and Mercedes, his Jeep stood out as one of the more humble vehicles.

But utility as well as comfort was important, and he didn’t like to change his car in the winter like some of those driving more flashy vehicles did.

Especially when he had so many trips to Muskoka.

“Dizzy, wait up.”

He paused, keys in hand as Brendan, his defense partner, hurried to his side. “Yeah?”

“I didn’t want ask inside with the others listening. But is Sarah okay?”

He closed his eyes, pressed his lips together. God, give me strength . He hadn’t even told the other guys in the online Bible study yet. Admitting it to Brendan felt fraught with difficulties.

“She’s not, is she,” Brendan said. Statement. Not question.

He shook his head.

Brendan’s breath hitched. “It’s not… cancer, is it?”

His shoulders eased. “No. She, ah…” He cleared his throat. “She had a miscarriage last week.”

“Oh, man. That sucks.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” the father of two said.

Dan really didn’t want to hear sympathy from someone who couldn’t know how he felt.

Owning the truth felt like an impossible tightrope to walk along.

One wayward word, one misplaced hug, and he might slip into the yawning abyss of anger he could feel swirling so close, ready to consume him. He needed to get out of here.

“Gotta go.”

“Is there anything we can do?”

“No. Unless you want to pray for us,” he goaded. They’d had a few discussions about faith in the past, and Brendan had always been reluctant, so that was an easy—

“Sure.”

Huh?

His surprise must’ve shown on his face because Brendan shrugged. “Hey, it can’t hurt, can it?”

“No,” he rasped. “Thanks.”

He managed to drive away without letting any emotion escape, but was glad for his tinted windows as he sat at a red light and angrily wiped away moisture.

His heart was a mess of conflicting emotions.

He was glad that Brendan was even going to pray, but seriously?

God better not be using his loss to touch Brendan’s heart. That seemed so harsh.

By the time he parked next to Sarah’s SUV he was steaming.

He probably should’ve gone to the gym at the club to burn off some of this energy.

But if he had, he’d likely be forced to confront some of his teammates, and he had no patience for that.

He had to calm down. Sarah didn’t need this.

Anger wasn’t something he did too often—passionate outbursts was her domain—but he could feel himself on the verge of losing it.

His white-knuckled hands unclenched from the steering wheel, and he lowered his head. “Lord.”

So many things he could pray. So many things he didn’t know how to say. It felt overwhelming, a riptide of emotion that threatened to suck him out and drown him in the deep blue sea.

“Lord, I need You.” He knuckled away more stupid tears. “How do I do this? How do I love her when I feel so broken? I’ve got nothing.”

You’ve got Me .

His skin prickled. For a second, that actually sounded like God was talking to him.

“I might have You,” he prayed aloud, just in case it was. “But honestly, it doesn’t feel like You’ve got me.”

There was no bolt of lightning, so maybe God was okay with raw prayers like that.

“Lord, I really need to feel You right now.” Oh, man he hated these tears. “I can’t keep it together. I don’t want Sarah to feel like I’m letting her down.”

Rest in Me.

Rest in God? What did that mean? They’d slept enough in Muskoka that his body had been itching to return.

He waited, but there wasn’t anything else that implied God might be speaking to him, so he rubbed his eyes, prayed his nose wasn’t red, and exited the vehicle.

Three minutes later he’d entered his apartment. It was quiet, but Sarah’s handbag on the dining table suggested she was home.

“Sar?”

No response. She was probably in her mini studio. He knocked gently, then opened the door. Huh. Still no Sarah. Where was she?

Another sound met his ears. He frowned. Moved to the bathroom. Opened the door.

Then saw his wife crouched on the bottom of the bathtub, her hands over her face, her sobs muffled by the overhead shower’s running water.

He felt the urge to help her, but with what?

Empty platitudes? Promises of God? Why would God give them such a miracle, only to take it away again so soon?

What was with that? Wasn’t God supposed to be into giving good gifts to His children?

So why had He allowed this to occur? It didn’t make sense.

He closed the door. He had no answers. God felt so far away.