I SWEPT TINLEY INTO my arms and carried her into the living room. Everything inside me broke and busted hearing my wife pouring her heart out. The weight of her pain and shame stabbed at my heart. We settled onto the couch, and I pulled her into me wrapping thick blankets around us.
Tinley snuggled into my side. Her breathing was low and even as her tears subsided. She needed me, more than I’d realized.
“I’m sorry, Matthew, I’m so sorry for everything.”
My heart cracked at her words. “Shhh, you don’t need to apologize.”
Eighteen months earlier
I held Tinley’s hand as Dr. Mallory squeezed the gel onto her belly. We arrived thirty minutes early for our appointment. At fifteen weeks, Tinley and I had begun nesting. We’d started decorating the nursery at our home in Malibu. We were waiting on paint swatches for the nursery at our East Harbour home. I wanted some shade of grey as a neutral color palette, but Tinley wanted to wait until we found out the sex so she could add some color to the house.
“Oh, that is cold,” Tinley said, with a laugh.
The doctor slid the wand over Tinley’s beautiful bump. “Okay, let’s see if baby will cooperate today.”
“The baby hasn’t been moving,” Tinley said. “And still no morning sickness.”
I squeezed Tinley’s hand. “You must be one of the lucky ones.”
The look on Dr. Mallory’s face changed and her mouth opened slightly. “Can you give me one moment?”
Lying still on her back, Tinley smiled. I didn’t know if my wife had noticed what I had. I watched Dr. Mallory’s hurried movements as I waited for the burst of an amplified heartbeat from the scanner, but there was only a tense silence. The quiet went on and on, it was deafening. When her eyes closed, my fears were confirmed and my heart dropped into the pit of my stomach.
Finally, she put down the equipment and said, “Well, I’m so very sorry. This is unexpected.”
Tinley’s eyes darted to mine and back to Dr. Mallory. “What . . . what are you saying?”
“I’m sorry, Tinley, Matthew,” she said, shaking her head.
“Is our baby . . . dead?” Tinley’s voice cracked.
My hand shook, when Tinley repeated the question. Her voice laced with an agonizing pain. The room took on a cold, sick lurch, quite opposite from the warm excitement our world had only minutes ago.
The words—miscarriage . . . late miscarriage . . . procedure . . . completed . . . unbelievably sorry. Each one stung like needles piercing my skin—etching them forever onto my body.
I stared blankly at Dr. Mallory. I tried to listen as her words swirled around me. Swallowing hard, I mustered every ounce of strength that I could pull.
“I’ll give you two some time,” Dr. Mallory said. “I’ll be back in a little to answer any questions.”
Coldness spread through my ribs, my wife’s sobs sliced through my soul. “Matthew, I’m so sorry.” Tinley’s voice shook as she wrapped her arms around her body. “I . . . I’m sorry.”
Why is she apologizing? Does she think this is her fault?
“Sweetheart, I’m here.”
When the doctor came back into the room, she explained that decreased fetal movement was more commonly a sign that there was a problem with the pregnancy. Commonly, most women less than twenty weeks of pregnancy don’t notice any signs of a fetal demise. Tinley wouldn’t have known anything was wrong. There was no cramping and no bleeding. In medical terms, this was an uncommon case.
Tinley attempted to pull on her clothes. “I’m so sorry.”
I enveloped my arms around Tinley, holding her tightly. “You don’t need to apologize.”
Mumbling she grabbed her phone and then started to type. “I need to pack away the baby clothes. Maybe I should return the clothes instead. Cancel the order for the crib.”
My wife was making a list.
“Tinley”—my hands smoothed up and down her arms—“let me take you home. We’ll figure all this out together.”
Her chin quivered, as her breath hitched. “I have so much to do.”
I took her phone. “Darlin’, there is nothing you need to do, except grieve our loss and take care of yourself.” The truth burned my throat like a shot of tequila.
She pulled me closer, clinging to me as if she was drowning and I was the life preserver. “Matthew, our baby,” she sobbed. “Why did this happen?”
“I don’t know why, but I promise you, we will face this together. I love you.”
I didn’t know what to say to my wife in that moment. Did I tell her everything was going to be okay? I didn’t know if everything was going to be okay. I wasn’t even sure that I was okay. Did I promise her that we would try again? Nothing made any sense to me as I tried to comprehend the loss. Tinley was breaking into a thousand pieces and I there was nothing I could do except tell her that I loved her.
“Tinley, I love you.”
Now, I fully understood why the subject of conceiving again was difficult for my wife. It was difficult on any level. I needed Tinley to see herself the way that I and others did.
“I love you too, which is why I’ve made a decision.” She pushed up to look at me, her eyes outlined in red from the tears. “I’m quitting the show. I’ve talked with Johanna and she’s advised me to buy out my remaining contract. Our lawyers are finalizing the details.”
“But it’s your dream.”
She shook her head. “No, you’re my dream—our life is my dream. I miss us and I lost sight of that. I want you. I want a marriage. Nothing else matters.”
I tilted my head. “But you’ve worked so hard.”
“None of that matters,” she argued. “No amount of successes or failures matter if I don’t have anyone to share them with. I neglected us. I ignored me. Now, I need some self-care. It will be good for both of us.”
“We both drifted away from us, but we’re finding our way back to each other now and that is what matters. If that is what you want—to quit the show—I will fully support your decision.”
There was nothing I wouldn’t do for her.