“Mom.” My voice is a low whisper as I stand in the middle of my room, watching her change my bedsheets. I guess I bled on them and didn’t even know.
She bundles them up into her arms before turning to look at me. Her eyes are red. She’s been crying.
I know I should be crying too. Why aren't I crying anymore?
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“I lost the baby, didn’t I?”
She swallows hard, her face a mask of sorrow.
“Rylee…” She takes a step forward.
“Of course, I did.” I laugh, tears starting to spill down my cheeks again. “I saw it in the damn toilet. And all that blood?” I squeeze my eyes shut, shaking my head.
“I’m so sorry.” Mom goes to hug me, but I shake my head harder, taking a step back.
“It’s okay.” I laugh, sounding a little manic, as I run my hands through my hair. “It’s okay. It’s better this way.”
“Rylee.” Her brows furrow together. “Don’t say that.”
“No.” I shake my head again. “It is. My life is too messed up right now. The last thing any of us needs is a baby, right?”
Even as I say the words, I know they’re not true. I’m trying to push the pain down and lie to myself. Maybe if I keep doing that, everything will be okay.
“Even if a baby wasn’t in the cards for right now, it doesn’t mean that you can’t be upset about this. You should tell the guys.”
“I can’t.” My voice breaks. “I can’t tell them about this. This would break them.” It's shattering me. “They already have too much going on. I can’t do this to them.”
“Rylee, you can’t take this on alone.” Her eyes are filled with sorrow.
“I’m not telling them. And you can’t either.” My voice grows angry.
“They deserve to know.”
“That they lost a baby they didn’t even know about? I’m not going to tell them that they were going to be dads, and now they’re not.” I rub at my eyes, too tired and drained to deal with this. Everything in me is demanding I shut down.
“It’s a good thing I didn’t tell them about the baby. This way, I saved them a lot of pain. It’s better this way.”
“Rylee.” Mom’s voice comes out harder now.
“Stop!” I shout, tears spilling down my cheeks. Both in sadness and frustration. “Please. Just stop. I want to forget about it, okay? I want my life to go back to normal.” My voice breaks. “Before that bitch took everything from me!”
“Oh, hunny.” Mom sighs sadly, and this time when she pulls me into her arms, I let her.
And I break.
“I was supposed to have his baby.” I sob into her chest. “Not her. Me!”
Mom rubs my back, holding me tight, giving me the strength I need in this moment.
After I’m done crying and shaking, she finishes making the bed and helps me get in. She insists on taking me to get checked out, but I don’t want to. I don’t want to draw attention to the situation.
We worked so hard this summer to get back some sort of normalcy, I’m not going to ruin that in one night.
No, I can handle this.
Yet another lie I seem to love telling myself.
