What?
“—but being around babies and kids is not good for my mental health right now.”
Wow. A real conversation at last. She concentrated on the latter comment, which was a heck of a lot easier to address than the first. “I don’t want to be around babies either,” she confessed. “I find I get so envious all the time.”
His grip tightened. “See? And that’s why I don’t want people to know. Because they keep making suggestions on what we can do. They don’t know what we’re going through.”
True. “But they won’t know unless we tell them, and if we’re honest about how it feels.”
He scoffed. “Don’t tell me. You want to tell the world.”
“No.”
“You do. I bet you want to tell your podcast listeners.”
What? She studied him, but he kept his face averted.
He didn’t mean it to sound like that, surely. Guilt grew. She’d always tried to be encouraging on her podcasts, sharing snippets about real life and revelations she’d had about God. People liked to know she didn’t find life always easy. But this past week or so had knocked the stuffing out of her, which meant comments about this week’s episode had gone unanswered, when usually she would’ve replied by now. The fact she hadn’t was probably already worrying them. “I would like to tell them sometime,” she murmured.
“Are you serious? I can’t believe you would want to tell people. This is our private business, Sarah. Not anyone else’s. Why does anyone else need to know?”
Always his argument whenever she wanted to share personal stuff on the podcast. He’d refused to let her say anything about this latest pregnancy. And even though she was a twenty-first century woman, she was also trying to be a God-honoring husband-respecting one, so she hadn’t shared, even though every atom in her being had wanted to share this most wonderful news. Until their wonderful news was destroyed.
She glanced at him. He kept his gaze averted. She bit back a sigh. If they were arguing about this, then imagine what he’d say about some of the bigger things. “People can’t relate if we don’t say anything,” she said carefully.
He finally looked at her, his chocolate eyes, usually so warm, were glittery and cold. “I don’t want people feeling sorry for me.”
“They won’t.” They might. They probably would. In a flash she could see their apartment littered with flowers, cards, and tiny bears. She pushed it aside. “They will feel listened to, related with, seen.”
“Do you even hear yourself?” He shook his head. “It sounds like you just want more followers.”
* * *
As soon asthe ugly words escaped, he felt sick. “Princess, no, I didn’t mean that.” He peeked across.
She’d inched back, her face pale. “Do you really think that’s why I do this?”
“Of course not.” She was nothing like those influencers who would do anything for a quick buck. “I’m sorry.”
She faced out the car window, as if she didn’t believe him.
And fair enough. He’d already apologized several times today. He wouldn’t believe him either.
“Sarah, you know I didn’t mean that.”
She shook her head, her face averted. “I don’t know that. Not really. I feel like you’re blaming me for all this.” She sniffled. “And yes, I understand why you would, because no matter what that blood test you had today says, we both know that I’m the reason why I can’t stay pregnant. But you knew that when you married me.”
“I know. And I truly didn’t mean to imply that I blame you.”
“Do you blame me?” She faced him then, and he caught a glimpse of her eyes, sparkling with sorrow.
His heart wrenched. “Princess, I—”
“Don’t you dare say you’re sorry. Tell the truth. Do you blame me? Is there a tiny pocket of your heart that is blaming me for this?”
He concentrated on the road. He couldn’t face her. “No.” Was that a lie? No. He didn’t blame her. Instead, “I blame God.”
She exhaled. “I knew it.”
