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As she read so many of David’s songs, fragments of sermons and Bible verses she’d heard all her life melded into a fuzzy certainty.

Somehow, God was still God. He still loved her and Dan, He still had good plans—her heart caught at that—and she still needed to trust Him.

Live in the opposite spirit , cried another faint voice.

Put on the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness !

Praise? Praise God at a time like this? Everything in her wanted to cry and weep and blame and throw accusing words at God.

Not praise Him. How could she do this? Another memory surfaced, a verse Dan had reminded her about, back in Muskoka when she was still depressed.

“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”

Well, this was one of those times to prove whether the writers of the Bible really did know what they were talking about, stop questioning, and just do.

With a voice raspy from tears, wet cheeks from hours of sorrow, and a spirit that hovered too close to despair, Sarah opened her mouth.

“Lord, You are good, You are faithful, You have good plans for me.”

The whisper broke, and she hunched over, grief threatening to overwhelm again, before she took another deep breath, trying to regain control.

“Lord, I love You, I praise You, I want to honor You…”

As she softly spoke the words aloud, it felt like her soul was trying to stand up, no longer crouching, cloaked in despair.

“Lord, You are the creator, You are Jehovah Jireh my provider, You will provide for me and Dan…”

She even managed to sing a couple of lines from the song she’d been working on yesterday. “I know You love me, I’ve seen Your grace so many times.”

She continued on with the rest of the verse, then sang some choruses from church, faith-building words that sounded nothing like the last time she’d led them from the front.

No, this was definitely real now. Who cared about harmonies or trying to stay in pitch when it felt like a battle for her soul was taking place?

So she sang, raspy, broken phrases as she shuddered through tears.

“Lord, You are our deliverer. You are our strength. You are our comfort.”

As she repeated and reiterated the verses, swatting away the hopelessness that hovered, it felt like a spiritual battle was taking place, God’s truth fighting a dark force.

Demons of despair and condemnation were not going to be entertained.

Not this time. Instead, they were going to be excised, eliminated.

They were not welcome here, in her life, or Dan’s, or in their marriage.

And by the time the first streaks of sun gold illuminated the city, Sarah felt a strange peace surround her, despite the deep grief that still lay in her heart.

“God,” she whispered, “I know that You are faithful. Help me to trust You.”

* * *

A faint sound wakened Dan. He rolled over, stretching out a hand.

No Sarah. Instead, the sheets felt cool, a sign she hadn’t been in bed for ages.

He stretched, then slowly made his way out of the bedroom, grabbing his robe as he saw the faint light shining under the second bedroom from the end of the hall.

That wasn’t unusual. He’d woken in the past to find her in here, writing a song she said had come in the middle of the night.

But Sarah wasn’t at the keyboard, headphones in, smiling to herself as she composed a song, or chatting quietly on the computer while she connected across crazy time zones with her family or Heartsong Collective colleagues.

Instead, she sat in the chair near the window, staring out as Toronto’s morning lights gleamed, ready for a new day.

Her Bible was open, and a full cup of tea sat abandoned nearby.

“Sar?”

She turned, hastily rubbing a hand over her face, before gazing at him, deep sorrow in her eyes.

Oh God. Dan’s heart started beating double time as he moved past the furniture to kneel at her feet. “Sar, what is it?” He held her cold hands, praying desperately that she wouldn’t say—

“I’ve started bleeding.”

No. He shook his head, trying to remember what the doctor said. “It doesn’t mean it’s a…” His throat clamped. He couldn’t get the word out, couldn’t go back to before.

Sarah peeked at him. “Dan, it’s serious.”

No. No. Why was she telling him now? How long had this been happening for? “We can go to the hospital.” He stood. He needed to do something. But Sarah just sat there, her green eyes glimmering with tears, gently shaking her head.

“It’s no use. I’ve seen…” Her voice broke, she hunched over and put her head in her hands.

No, God. No.

His chest cracked open with a now-familiar kind of ache, one that threatened to swallow him whole. Emotion pricked then welled, from the seemingly never-ending well of grief that existed just below the surface of his soul these days.

He slowly moved to wrap her in his arms. Her tears were all the proof he needed. God had let them down. Again.

This had to be a nightmare. Who stuck screaming infants and happy round-bellied pregnant people in the same waiting room as a couple who’d made an emergency appointment because they feared a miscarriage?

What kind of insensitive jerks ran this place?

Ever since they’d arrived at the medical center an hour ago, he’d tried to blot out the little kids, tried to blot out the people living their best lives, all of them oblivious to the couple whose lives had likely shattered.

They might be unaware, but he’d noticed a few people sneak looks at them.

He hunched down, a baseball cap pulled low on his head, doing his best to hide his face. This was no time to be recognized.

Sarah, too, seemed determined to act like normal, flicking through a few dumb magazines even as her tears wouldn’t stop falling.

He’d cried with her this morning, but had to be brave now for her sake.

He’d phoned the club, his voice breaking as he briefly explained his need to be absent for a few days to take care of a family emergency.

The Leafs had a must-win game, but when he’d explained about the miscarriage, he was told to take as much time as needed. That was something at least.

But hockey seemed pointless. Not compared to helping his wife in this moment. He grasped her hand again, gripping it tighter, wishing he could infuse what little strength he had to her.

“Shh, Princess. It’s gonna be okay.” Not today, or tomorrow, not even next month.

Maybe never. Not if this really was another miscarriage.

A tiny part of him still clung to hope; it wasn’t officially over until the doctor said so.

God was supposed to work miracles, wasn’t He?

God could still make this baby live. Even if He had let the others die.

But Dan knew he had to say the words, for her sake, even if he wasn’t sure if he believed them. Not anymore.

“Mommy?” A little boy poked his pregnant mother.

Why did that family get two when they couldn’t even have one?

The little boy pointed at Sarah. “Why is that lady crying?”

Sarah ducked her head as the mom murmured something. Dan shifted to screen Sarah, to give her more privacy, even as he burned with frustration. Why the heck were they still out here? Hadn’t he explained this was an emergency? What was wrong with the people who ran this place? God, help us!

“Sarah Walton?”

Finally. Dan wrapped an arm around her and helped her stand.

His heart wrenched in fresh sympathy. For all the grief he felt, she was feeling it too, only it was actually happening inside her body.

She’d continued to cramp throughout the morning, and the mild gasps signified pain that was hers alone.

He picked up her bag and coat, then reached out for her hand, and they followed the nurse like lambs to the slaughter.

Once seated, Dr. McKinnon leaned over the desk and began a gentle interrogation about the last twenty-four hours.

Dan sat silent. So much of what Sarah was saying was news to him.

Why hadn’t she told him earlier? They might’ve gotten here sooner, found something to save the baby.

The doctor made notes, took another blood sample, nodded, felt around her stomach area, checked Sarah’s latest clotted pad, then sent them off for another ultrasound.

Yet another hour later—this time speedily processed by a silent sonographer who’d looked at them with sad eyes—and they were back in the office.

Dr. McKinnon looked over the results, pursing his lips, before glancing up at them. “I’m sorry, but this confirms it. You have lost this one too. I’m sorry.”

Dan blinked back the burn of tears, gripping Sarah’s hand, more for his sake than hers. “Is…was there any reason why this happened?”

Sarah stiffened, like she thought he might be blaming her. Man, he didn’t want that. “Sar, I’m not—”

“No. We all knew from the start that the hCG levels weren’t high, and that like the last times, that miscarriage was a risk.

” He studied Sarah seriously as she wiped away tears.

“Chromosomal abnormalities cause about fifty percent of all miscarriages in the first trimester, and nobody knows why, so this is not your fault. There was nothing you did wrong, and nothing you could have done.” He glanced at Dan. “Nothing.”

Dan dipped his chin, tightening his hold on Sarah’s hand, even as he felt a ping of relief.

Since the last two miscarriages, he’d read up on some of the causes, and while much of a miscarriage seemed shrouded in mystery, there were always some anecdotal studies or myths that suggested certain things were triggers, like stress, or exercise or lifting things.

Helplessness washed over him to be the one unable to do anything but watch his wife go through this.

“Sarah, I’m going to schedule you for an immediate D he’d hated today, feeling so helpless, watching as she suffered and being unable to relieve a single part.

“Hey, Sar Bear.”

Her bottom lip trembled. “I’m so sorry.”

“Princess, it’s not your fault. You heard what the doctor said. It was likely chromosomal abnormalities, not anything else. So please don’t start worrying about what you could have done differently.” He kissed her hand, then sat on the recovery room’s plastic chair.

She looked at him steadily, weariness rimming her eyes. “I’m not worried about that.”

Dan had a strange sense that she suddenly wasn’t talking about fault or blame, but that in the midst of this horror she was concerned for him. Oh man… Tears prickled quickly, and he glanced down at the floor, trying to pull himself together to face her scrutiny.

“I love you, Daniel.” She touched his hair, her hand lying on his head, like she was praying a benediction.

He glanced up. The brave smile she gave him might wobble a little, but still had the power to make his insides turn to jelly.

“I love you, Princess.” He tried to force a smile that only got halfway. God, where are you?