She didnât really have to ask; the sense of an aching void inside her told her it was true.
Her momâs eyes squeezed shut for a moment, and when she opened them again they were glazed with moisture. âIâm afraid so.â
âWhy?â she asked plaintively, not bothering to wipe at the tears that streaked down her cheeks. âWhat did I do wrong?â She wanted her husband. Where was Wade? He should be here, holding her. How could she get through this without him?
âNothing. But there was a problem with the baby. You couldnât have prevented it.â
A nurse came in and checked the monitors. âYour doctorâs in the hospital, Mrs. Bly. Iâll let her know youâre awake and sheâll come see you as soon as she can.â
When she left, Miriam turned back to her mom. âWhereâs Wade?â
âHe just stepped out for a minute. Heâs been here by your side.â
Reassured, she returned to the one thing that most mattered. Trying to understand, she said, âBut I was past the first trimester. Youâre supposed to be safe then.â
Her mother bit her lip. âSometimes miscarriages happen later.â
âMy baby,â she sobbed. Her abdomen hurt, but the real pain was in her heart. âWas it a boy or a girl?â
âA boy.â
Two girls, two boys. That was what she and Wade wanted. All their dreams had been coming true and now theyâd lost their son. A quick stab of anxiety made her ask, âJessica? Is she all right?â
âSheâs fine. Your dad took her to school and heâll pick her up this afternoon and take her to our house. Andie will baby-sit.â
Reassured, Miriam said, âThanks.â For the first time, she realized how tired and worn her mom looked, though the love and concern in her eyes touched Miriamâs broken heart. âI want to go home, Mom. I just want to go home.â Actually, she wanted to go to her parentsâ house and have her mother look after her. But she wanted Wade there, too. âWhen can I leave the hospital?â
âNot quite yet.â She seemed about to say something else when Wade stepped into the room.
His eyes widened and he rushed to the bed. âYouâre awake.â
Miriam had seen him after heâd been up all night with ranch emergencies, but never had he looked so drained. When he took her hand, she gripped his fiercely. âWe l-lost our son,â she wailed, fresh tears sheeting down her cheeks.
He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. Rather than lift his head again, he rested it on the pillow next to hers. âI know, honey.â His voice was choked. Slowly, as if it took superhuman effort, he raised his head and glanced at her mother. âHave you . . . ?â
She shook her head. âThe nurse says her doctorâs coming.â
âOkay.â He sank down in the chair on the other side of the bed, still holding Miriamâs hand. âYouâre going to be all right. Thatâs the most important thing.â
He didnât think losing their son was important? But no, that was unfair. Of course he did. He was just trying to make her feel better. As if anything could.
âI love you, Miriam,â he said. âOur loveâs strong enough to get us through anything. Right?â His deep brown eyes looked wounded and pleading.
Could theyâcould sheâget through this? Women did. Miscarriage wasnât all that uncommon. But sheâd made it past the first trimester. Sheâd felt the baby move. âRight.â She hoped that saying it would make her believe it, but grief, pain, drugs had muddled her brain. Except for the one thing she was sure of. âI do love you, Wade.â She squeezed his hand, gently this time. âAnd our Jessica.â Then she turned to her mom. âAnd you and Dad, and my sisters and brother.â Right now, that love was the only thing holding