“Ro?”

Solana calls out his name while reaching for the banister lining the wooden steps. She’d half expected to find her husband in the bedroom once she stepped out the bathroom, as he’d already finished his own shower after a post dinner workout.

Not without suggesting she join him, a question of sorts that had the heat rising to her cheeks and the top of her ears. Despite finally consummating their marriage, there are still certain things Solana struggles with, one of them being something like that.

It seems and feels normal, things she’s heard about. Husbands and wives showering together. But, for her, it just seems like it’s an option locked behind a door that she just doesn’t feel ready to unlock.

Not…not yet, at least.

Reaching the first floor, her bare feet curling against the cool of the wood, she starts to turn for the kitchen when she overhears the deep rumble of his voice.

“Roman?” Solana follows the sound, a slight flutter in her chest at the thought of seeing him. A bit strange and slightly embarrassing thing considering they’ve spent nothing but time together the past few days. A world that only exists with the two of them, something she craves deeply. She...she doesn’t like not being around him.

“I’m…I’m out the show—” Solana stops, walking into the living room to find him sitting on the sofa, shirtless, thick legs clad in only boxers— spread, one arm extended across the top of said sofa, phone to his ear. 

Their eyes lock, and right away, the nerves in her stomach start to flip and turn, her fingers fiddling with the material of her short nightgown. She mouths, “I’m sorry,” feeling all the bit embarrassed. 

Of course. She should have known he was busy. Why else would he not be in the room? Fully prepared to turn around and return to the bathroom, she’s instead met with him using his free hand to motion her over with the beckoning of his index finger. 

Unsure but also not the one to necessarily go against a directive, Solana moves slowly in his direction, gasping quietly when he suddenly reaches for her, tugging her into him. 

And, just like that, as he briefly adjusts the phone to press a kiss to her shoulder, it’s all want over thought as she settles into his lap, legs stretched out on the sofa, head in the crook of his neck.

Solana's eyes closing as she feels his arm shift around her, holding her close to him. 

Her smile returns. 

Roman’s deep voice sounds in her ear, as he speaks in what she’s almost certain is Samoan. The irritation familiar but from witness and not experience.

It’s been so long since he’s directed that typical annoyance towards her that she almost forgot what it feels like to be on the receiving end. That doesn’t stop her from feeling bad for whoever that unlucky person is, however. 

“Anything else?” The sudden switch to English has her looking up from where she lays her head on his shoulder, curious about the change. “Because I’m fucking busy, and you’re not talking about anything important. I don’t care that Ghost got shot. I don’t even know who the fuck that is.”

Solana frowns. Never one to eavesdrop, it’s hard not to try to make out the other person. Especially when there’s something fairly familiar.

Very familiar.

“Is—is that Jimmy?” 

Roman looks over at her, his expression instantly shifting. Not irritated. Just…exasperated?

“Is that Soso?”

She gasps. 

I was right.

“No,” Roman instantly answers. “She’s sleeping.”

“Roman,” she chides, shifting in his lap. “Can I—can I talk to him?”

Roman looks over at her, his eyes widening slightly, right as a “Hey Soso! Happy birthday, girl! You grow any yet?”  sounds from the other end of the phone.

Solana giggles as her husband scowls and glares, “would you shut the fuck up?”

Except, Jimmy does nothing of the sort. “Hey! Ask her has she seen “The Woman in the House Across the Street from the Girl in the Window”?

Words could not accurately describe the absolute confusion and disgust that mars the face of the Tribal Chief. “The woman in the—Jimmy, what the hell are you talking about?”

However, while he remains confused as all outdoors, Solana shifts on his lap, trying to move her mouth closer to the phone that Roman moved from his ear so that it's now hovering in between the two of them. “I haven’t, but I heard it was good. It’s in my watchlist! Have you seen it?”

“It's so good! You gotta watch it so we can talk about it! My lil goddaughter, Dulce, seemed to really like it, too.” Jimmy says, rather enthusiastically, on the other end, as Roman pinches the bridge of his nose. “Then you gotta watch Power, as well. Even though they done pissed me off killing my boy Ghost like that.”

“Would you stop talking about this damn Ghost person?” Roman snaps, just as Solana pouts in his direction. “And, how the hell do you know the fucking dog liked the shit?”

Solana, however, ignores her impatient husband, instead asking tentatively, “did—did you start Pretty Little Liars yet?” She casts a wry smile to the frustrated man underneath her. “Roman and I are on season 2.”

“I hate that damn show,” he mutters, scowling and making Solana’s smile deepen. He may hate it, but he certainly doesn’t turn her down when she asks him to watch it with her. Even invites himself sometimes without her asking. 

“Not yet! Trying to get your girl over here to sit down and watch it with me.”

The mention of Naomi and thought of her sweet puppy has Solana requesting something else of her husband. “Can—can you FaceTime him?” 

But, it’s a request he doesn’t need to think about it. “No.”

She sighs.

Of course.

As Solana frowns and prepares to reason with her antisocial husband, Jimmy snorts on the other end. “Now, Soso, you know damn well he don’t know how to do all that with his phone.”

Roman pulls the phone away from his ear once more after previously trying to minimize the communication between his wife and cousin, Jimmy’s yelling clearly abut to tip him over the edge but not enough for him to protest. “Yes, I fucking can.” Solana watches as he pulls the phone back, her smile growing in anticipation at maybe seeing Dulce and even Naomi.

But, neither of that happens when Roman jabs his finger against the red end button.

“Roman!”

“What?” He dismisses, tossing the phone beside them. “I hung it up. See, I can do something.”

She pouts as he seems inherently unbothered, shifting her once more so she’s straddling him, Solana quickly going from slightly baffled to blushing again, realizing how her dress has risen, revealing her ass that’s all but swallowed up by her underwear.

A common problem she’s always had.

Locking eyes with her husband once more, those butterflies spread and flutter as she’s briefly transfixed by him. His face, like his body, chiseled and sculpted by the Gods themselves. His hair, down, free, framing his face. His face. It’s a bit of a circular cycle, one she finds herself embedded in maybe more often than not.

He’s just so handsome. 

It’s….distracting, to say the least. 

Especially when she compares them, and she tends to do that a lot. Something she’s working on, but still a struggle, nonetheless. 

Attempting to fix it and push her dress down are just part of her embarrassment that’s not missed upon her husband. Solana observes the way his eyes narrow with genuine interest, his hands moving to her hips, hands over hers, halting her movements. “Why do you still get so shy around me?”

Roman has never come across as a man who’s hesitant to speak first and say what’s on his mind, question or statement, so she shouldn’t be so surprised. But, she is, hence the swallowing and struggling with a response.

“I—” Him preventing her from adjusting her dress, sitting directly on his crotch that she could almost swear she feels hardening underneath her doesn’t help one bit. “I just—”

“You just?” 

Solana frowns, shrugging, lowering her eyes to her lap, her dress scrunched, settling against her stomach. “You look like…you, and—and I’m just me—”

“And what is me?” He interrupts, clearly unwilling to drop this, even though she’d give anything for him to do just that. 

Her shoulders drop, her voice soft, pleading, “Roman…”

“You still don’t get just how damn fine you are, do you?”

His hands finally shift from atop hers but instead move under her dress, palming her ass, prompting her to shift forward, her breast all but shoved into his face.

That only spikes her mortification. 

Except, it’s the complete opposite reaction from the man underneath her, Solana’s lips drawn open as he starts massaging her ass, thumb snapping the band of her underwear against her hips. 

“Like there ain’t an inch of you I haven’t already seen,” he continues, Solana panting when his mouth is suddenly at the base of her neck, her head tilted back, unintentionally providing uninterrupted access. His lips pressed against her skin, “haven’t tasted…”

And suddenly, embarrassment starts to melt with something else, Solana’s fingers moving and digging into his shoulders, stomach flipping when his mouth travels to the top of her breast. “Ro…”

The softest moan falling from her mouth as he ups the ante, Solana hiking up to give him the access he desires, his fingers starting to push down on the band of her underwear. 

“Like I don’t think about you all the fucking time.” She gasps, head dropping against his shoulder as he hovers his hand over her now exposed cunt. “Like I don’t think about fucking you all the time…” But, just as she feels his fingers ghosting near where she’s almost certain she feels wetness building, his eyes are on her. “Can I…”

Something stirs within her, filling her chest as she nods, quickly remembering the need for verbal vs nonverbal. “Yes.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

Once more, Solana is squeezing his shoulders the same way her cunt squeezes and flexes against his thick fingers. One at first followed by a second, her mouth open against his hot skin as he carefully works her. 

“So fucking tight…” His hand not busy tending to her dripping pussy moves to rid her of the last thing that fully separates them.

She's taken back by his ability to multitask, working her so skillfully while also managing to tug on her gown, her arms naturally lifting as he pulls it over her head, allowing it to join his vibrating phone on the sofa beside them. But, that’s not distracting enough for Solana, as she immediately moves her arms to cover her chest.

A displeasing thing for her husband who immediately scowls. 

“What I tell you about that?” He admonishes, that insecurity creeping back in but once again being shoved away as he forces her to lower her arms, eyes immediately settling on her breast. Solana licks her lips, trying to focus on the way his hand continues to move inside of her instead of how his eyes continue to travel over the span of her body. Fully naked and exposed, nothing to hide the fat, rolls, scars, cellulite and everything else that typically infiltrates her headspace when any portion of her body is exposed.

Especially in this setting.

“You said want all of me, right?” He throws her words back at her, words she said not even a full 48hrs prior when they first consummated their marriage and Solana finally had her first time. He tugs her forward, gaze lifting and bouncing back and forth between her eyes and lips. “Well, I want all of you, too. Always.”

Once more, another flip as Solana experiences a flood what came over her during their first time. That has her cupping his face, connecting their lips for a soft, tentative kiss that quickly grows into something heated and intense. That has her no longer straddling his waist but laid out on the sofa, her legs wrapped around his waist, her nails clawing down his strong back as he thrusts inside of her, deep and devoted.

“Mine,” he breathes in her ear, Solana’s head back into the arm of the sofa, still not over what this feels like. Not just the sex. Not just finally knowing what it’s like to be cared for so tenderly and delicately. 

But love.

God has a sense of humor.

He has to.

Nothing else can explain this sort of chaos, this sort of madness, this sort of dysfunction.

Because only in a world where the Big Guy gets a kick out of such things does Solana end up in a situation like this, laid out on the patient bed, waiting for her doctor return so they can do an ultrasound. Because of course, it’s not enough for her husband’s mistress to be pregnant with his baby. She just also happens to be pregnant with his child.

At least….she thinks.

She hopes.

Solana has to place a hand over her heart and take a deep breath to regulate her nervous system, because just the thought of carrying the child of a man whose name she never bothered to learn and whose face she prays to never see again is enough to have her depositing her entire breakfast all over the pristine, sterile tile.

That was bad enough, the act of being intimate with another man in the way it happened, but a baby coming from it?

There’s a lot of things she can handle, but that isn’t one of them.

Even though….she’s not entirely sure that matters all that much, because regardless of the father, it doesn’t change what she’s more or less come to decide.

That she can’t keep this baby.

For….a lot of reasons. Some of which she doesn’t necessarily like, the decision she doesn’t necessarily like, but something that just feels like….like it’s the right thing to do.

Solana already has seven children, and not to quote or use her cheating husband as source or voice of reason, but he wasn’t lying when he said that they have a lot of kids. Beyond that, it just feels unfair to her current kids. Aroha is only five. There are still a few years left before Lina and Leya are out of the house and on their way to college, Tama not far behind. They’re already stretched so thin most days. It feels….it feels almost selfish to bring another child into the world.

Not even mentioning the possibility of a potential half sibling by the end of the year.

Solana isn’t really thinking too much about that though. That’s, in her mind, Roman and Celeste’s problem to figure out.

She can only think about herself and her children. What’s best for them. And, what feels best for them, at least in this moment, is to terminate the pregnancy.

Not to mention her concerns about health issues. As a nurse, she knows good and well the increased health complications that come with a pregnancy at 44. It’d be high risk for sure, and not to mention, what kind of health issues the baby could face.

She won’t do that to a child.

Especially not her own.

Even….even if a small part of her wonders, is curious what it would be like to have another baby. What their child would be like.

Blinking back the tears and thoughts that only sadden, she focuses on the facts of the situation as well as navigating just how in the hell she’s supposed to tell Roman.

She doesn’t want to, feels like he doesn’t deserve to know almost. Especially as he’s already dealing with one unexpected and unwanted pregnancy.

Perhaps…perhaps finding out, however, just how far along she is and tracing back the date or timeframe of conception will change that.

She’s just not sure which is a worse outcome though.

Dr. Marshall walking back into the room is something that registers partially. Same as the light conversation she tries to hold, most of it regarding Solana's health, this pregnancy, and other medical topics. Solana answers, but she’s distant, somewhere and elsewhere still trying to sit on the fact that she’s pregnant.

As if things weren’t always complicated enough.

Add in an unplanned pregnancy that she has to terminate.

Fucking life.

“You already know this might be cold,” Dr. Marshall advises, transducer hovering over Solana’s exposed stomach, the pudge something the now expecting mother looks down and imagines rounded and expanded. The briefest view of a hand moving over the cocoon, but it’s not her hand.

Solana, once again, blinks back the tears and nods, closing her eyes and blowing out a breath.

The familiar cooling sensations sends chills up the base of her spine as her own hand lowers to the side of her hip, thumb gently probing the patch of her stomach that remains untouched by the gel.

And taking another deep breath, giving a few minutes for the probe to be moved around her stomach to locate the fetus, she turns her head to look at the screen.

Except, instead of being met with a familiar sight she’s seen countless times prior, there’s something else.

Something she hasn’t seen in years.

“Is that….”

It’s an unfinished question, because Solana doesn’t need her doctor to tell her what she already knows from her own medical background.

Blood.

There’s blood surrounding the placenta.

That….that’s never a good sign.

Dr. Kristall, however, remains calm and collected, reminding gently. “You had a subchorionic hematoma with your first pregnancy, correct? There’s a chance you’re having another one. Let’s just….” She doesn’t finish, Solana watching her move the instrument around her stomach, clearly working to find the heartbeat. The heartbeat that will provide some sense of relief. Like Kristall said, Solana has experienced this before, and even though all of her pregnancies after Lina and Leya went without another SC, that doesn’t make her exempt.

Doesn't mean it can't happen again.

So, Kristall’s guidance is helpful and sage, allowing her to lay, wait, and watch as they locate the heartbeat.

Except, they don’t.

The silence remains, extending, prolonging, never once filled or infiltrated with that familiar rhythmic, beeping that Solana has heard countless times on seven different occurrences.

But, not this time.

This time….nothing.

Dr. Marshall’s pained expression falls to Solana who can’t turn away from the screen but feels the woman’s sympathetic gaze, matched only by her sympathetic tone.

Gone is the hope that once marred her voice and facial expression. Replaced with something heavier.

Much….much heavier.

“Solana….”

“How…how far?” A broken, whispered question as the tears stream down her face.

Dr. Marshall swallows. “Solana—”

“How far—” Solana closes her eyes and forces out another breath. “How far, Kristall?”

A noticeable pause followed by what Solana extracts from a sentence that includes information she doesn’t care about. The number. The number of weeks she was is all she cares about.

Was.

“….around 11 weeks…..”

11 weeks.

Somehow, someway, she’s able to do the math. Able to trace it back, and perhaps it’s less math and more common sense. Not even a full two months have passed since that night of her indiscretions. There’s no way he could have been the father.

Roman.

Roman is the father.

Or….was.

It’s only then she presses her lips together and starts to cry but quickly retracts it, snatches it back, sitting up, forcing Kristall’s hand from her stomach, uncaring of the passage of the gel onto her bottom half.

Solana clears her throat, attempting to shift the dress down to cover herself. “I—I umm, I want to…I want to do it at home.”

Kristall’s brows furrow together. “Do what?”

But, Solana can’t say it. She just can’t. So, she instead opts for beating around the bush in a way she knows the other woman will understand. “If….if I’m already bleeding, then it’s…then it’s already started—” Solana stops, finding the words too difficult to voice and string together, once more having to take a deep breath. “I don’t want a D&C.”

Kristall’s mouth falls into a frown. “Solana, I don’t think—”

“I can’t be in the hospital. Not for a procedure. My kids—”

A poor choice of words. Accurate but brutal, Solana slapping a hand over her mouth, once again forcing herself to not feel. But, to exist, because in that moment, that’s all she can do.

“Solana, you’re already here—”

“No!” She snaps, shaking her head, bottom lip trembling. “Not…not right now. I’m….I’m not….I’m not ready.”

For this. For any of it. But, that doesn’t make much of a difference though, does it?

What’s done….is done.

Solana swings her legs over the side of the bed, reaching for the towel clean off the remaining gel. “Just….give me Misoprostol, and I—I’ll do it at home.”

Misoprostol.

One of two drugs used for medical abortions.

The first, Mifepristone, won’t be needed, as it’s intended to stop and block progesterone, the hormone needed for a pregnancy to continue.

And, for Solana, that’s….that’s not an issue.

Her pregnancy has already ended. Her baby is already dead.

Before she even knew it was alive.

“Solana, are you sure you want to make this decision right now?” Kristall presses, less doctor, more human. Always compassion over anything. “Do you…do you wanna call Rom—”

“No,” Solana snaps, lifting her head and angrily wiping at her eyes. “I—I’m telling you what I want. Write the prescription. I already know to follow up and to come in if—”

“I know you know medically how this goes. That’s not what I’m worried about, honey.” She stops, sighing and placing a gentle hand on Solana’s knee. “I’m worried about you emotionally.”

Such striking, ironic words, as Solana hasn’t felt fine emotionally in a couple months. Not since all of….that started.

And especially….especially now with….this.

“Well, don’t,” she replies, clearing her throat and shrugging, arms crossed. “It’s…it’s not like I don’t already have children, and—I wasn’t going to keep it anyway.”

To some extent, Solana knows the words, hollow and vacant, are less for the woman in front of her and more for the woman speaking them.

Kristall’s frown deepens. “Honey, there’s a difference between you choosing to end a pregnancy and not even having the chance to make that dec—”

“Can you please just write the script?” Her voice is short and terse, clipped with the emotions she will do her damn hardest to keep pushed down and locked away. “I have to be home in time to meet—to meet my babies.”

Dr. Kristall goes quiet, her disagreement still evident but not matched by her response. “I’ll send it in,” she agrees with a quietness and forced acquiescence, offering a final, “I’m so sorry.”

Solana only answers to the empty of the suddenly depressingly quiet exam room.

“Me too....”

————

It starts later that night. The familiar feeling between her legs that Solana would normally roll her eyes at and climb out of bed to go into the bathroom and line her underwear or insert a tampon. And, one of those things, she does. But, not immediately. No, there’s a good five minutes that she just lays in bed, on her side, eyes clenched shut, and she cries. Silent tears streaming down her face, a stifled emotionality she works hard to keep contained for the sake of her children who are fast asleep. Who she needs to remain fast asleep.

At least for another couple house.

Because, when morning rolls around and it’s the madness that is getting all of them ready for school, it’ll be a little bit more. A little different.

She’ll load them up and drop them off, but she won’t pick them up. Not until the following afternoon when they’re dismissed from school.

Because she already made plans. Already arranged for them to not be home, so she can handle this alone. Without them, but even more so, without further traumatizing them than they already are.

It was a decision she made after her appointment as she stopped at the store to pick up the items she knows she’ll most likely need as well as sitting in the drive-thru of the pharmacy, waiting to pick up her prescription.

She hasn’t taken it yet. Was waiting until she got home from dropping off the kids. Didn’t want to risk starting before they were out of the house.

Unfortunately….that doesn’t seem to have made much of a difference.

Finally forcing herself to walk into the bathroom, it’s looking down at her underwear as she sits on the toilet that reveals what she already knew. Tiny splotches of blood.

Spotting.

She’s started to spot.

Solana takes a deep breath and looks away, once more blinking and shoving away the riptide of emotions she refuses to release. Not yet. Not when her babies are still present. She has to wait until they’re gone, and she knows that the house won’t be filled with laughter and arguments and the everyday chaos she normally welcomes from her children. Replaced with what will be the silence. The silence and space she needs to do this.

To do it alone.

Solana makes it through the night and the busy, chaotic school morning. Manages to hug and hold her babies a little tighter as she won’t be seeing them until the next day, which is far too long for a woman who lives and breathes for her kids.

And, despite their understandable confusion at “randomly being sent away,” along with her guilt at continuing to uproot and disturb their routines, she knows it’s for the best.

They don’t need to be around for….for this.

No one does.

They’ll be better off and free from the trauma that no one should have to experience at the respective families she chose for them to stay with.

Aroha, Koa, and Kai with Matteo and Afia. Tama with Dwayne. Aria with Mickie and Cam. And, Lina and Leya with Bayley.

Strategically chosen placement. Intentional with aiding and providing the kids the comfort and perhaps the space to discuss with trusted adults and close family their feelings towards everything that’s been going on. And though Solana wishes that for all of them, she especially wishes it for her eldest son. She knows that he’s holding in so many of his own emotions, even more than Lina, she would argue, and that kills her.

He’s always been close with Dwayne and trusts him.

She just hopes Tama can utilize that time to release instead of the continuation of his suppression.

As someone going through it, it’s a hell she wishes on no one.

Similar to the personal hell she experiences after returning home from the drop-off.

After taking the Misoprostol.

After sending a reminder text to her closest friends and family—even Roman—to tell them she just needs time to herself. She’d said as such when requesting for the kids to stay with the selected parties but wanted to reiterate and ensure understanding. Ensure they won’t become alarmed at the texts that will go without a reply and the ringing that will eventually lead to her voicemail.

Solana just wants to be….alone.

And, perhaps….perhaps it’s not the best thing. In fact, a part of her knows it’s the worst idea in the fucking world. All of it. Choosing to have her miscarriage at home. Not telling anyone. Not even letting Roman know who, perhaps on some moral level, has a right to know.

But, she can’t bring herself to do it.

Can’t bring herself to share the why.

Because that makes it even more real.

—————

It starts out just like any other period. The bleeding. The cramping. Light at first, enough to where Solana catches up on some laundry around the house. Mops the boys wing of the house. Cleans Aroha’s bathroom. The normal things to help outweigh the abnormal process her body is enduring.

Distractions.

Distractions from what she can’t bring herself to think too much about.

Helpful but not entirely, because they don’t stop the tears from rolling down her cheeks. The occasional sob that exits the back of her throat as she wipes at her nose with the back of her hand and resumes hanging up freshly dried clothes.

It doesn’t make what’s happening any less real.

But, it’s when she’s in the kitchen, trying to fix herself something for lunch that the progression starts to intensify. It’s no longer the cramps that one grimaces and briefly places a hand on the stomach while powering through and continuing on. They’re the type that have her dropping the knife in hand, bent over, hand on her stomach as she clenches her eyes and grinds her teeth.

Contractions.

They’re contractions.

And, they come a fiery, intense pain she wasn’t expecting. She knew, from a medical standpoint, there was a risk. But, perhaps naively, she was hoping she wouldn’t have an experience like that. Like some of the horror stories women who have natural miscarriages or miscarriages at home experience.

Was hoping she’d be like some of the other women who just described it as a “bad period.”

If only she could have been as lucky.

Changing pads every so often turns into emptying the first box, Solana in the midst of ripping open the next box when another wave hits her, a loud cry of pain exiting her mouth as she drops the box, two of the pads falling onto the tile floor.

Solana whimpers, leaned over the counter once more, forcing a deep, shaky breath out as she manages to bend down, grabbing the box off the floor, gathering the spilled pads and starting to rise to her full height when her gaze shifts to the right.

And, in the midst of the past few hours, despite the pain, despite the discomfort, despite it all, nothing kills her more than that single moment.

The toilet.

Lid lifted, exposing the contents.

Solana gasps, instantly falling back down, eclipsing her view but never the memory.

The sight of the toilet bowl filled with not clean water. Even yellow tinted urine, perhaps darker from the excessive Vitamin B she receives through a host of her multivitamins.

Red.

Blood red.

Blood.

She hadn’t looked down the first few times she went to the bathroom. Refused to. Knew that it would only upset her.

That it would it would make this more real.

An undeniable and unavoidable reality that she can’t escape, no matter how much it kills her. How much it pains her.

How much it crushes her.

Solana places a hand over her mouth, crawling to the toilet, holding onto the sides, unable to look away, to turn her teary eyes from the crimson sea of loss.

Of a being that never got a chance to breathe.

A breath that’ll never be taken.

A life that’ll never be lived.

And the tears tumble out, the sob bouncing off the walls off her bathroom as she cries over the commode, clutching and holding onto it like it’s the baby she’ll never be able to hold.

Her baby.

She cries harder.

It’s a heartbreaking sound that’s interrupted by another cruel contraction that has her moving her arms around her waist as she falls to her side, unable to hold up the weight of her body, the feel of that same crimson that lines her toilet dripping down her inner thighs.

Blood.

So much blood.

Gasping, she moves a hand to her chest, feeling like her heart is seconds away from beating right out of her ribcage, a single thought comes to mind and manages to escape the cell of her overwhelmed mind and defeated will.

“I—I can’t do this.”

Solana’s broken, ragged admission is accompanied by her managing to move to her knees once more, shaking hands grabbing her cell phone. Trembling fingers unlocking and navigating to the messages app. There’s no hesitation, no second-thoughts, just a pure instinctual, desperate act that’s broken down and minimized to three simple but powerful words.

I need you.

——————

Solana sends the text at 3:06pm.

At 3:23pm, she hears the faint sound of her name being called and the heavy footsteps that move at a rushed and alarming speed.

“Solana?”

Another slight recognition as she remains where she’s been for the past almost twenty minutes since she sent the text. On the floor. On her side, holding onto her stomach, blank, vacant stare at the side of the jacuzzi tub.

“Sol….”

Her vision is blurred from the tears, some new, some old, but it doesn’t prevent her from making out the obscured view of those same brown eyes she’s always loved to stare into. To look up at as she held onto him. To turn over in bed and see already staring back at her.

Like, he’s staring at her now, but it’s not filled with love.

It’s filled with exhaustion, confusion, and all of the fear that a human being can hold.

“Oh my God,” he breathes, gaze taking in what has to be a horrifying scene. She’s almost certain the blood that cakes her inner thighs has bled through her pants as well.

“Solana...” Roman appears unsure how to respond, where and how to touch her. If he should touch her at all, and there’s something about seeing him look so….helpless almost that pulls her from the shell of trauma that she’d closed herself into.

“I’m having a miscarriage.”

The words she hadn’t been able to allow herself to voice spoken into the void, snagging his fearful gaze from her blood soaked bottom half back to her eyes.

If he looked confused before, he looks absolutely crushed now.

“Wh—what?” Whispered, hushed, heavy.

“I—I found out yesterday at my yearly checkup appointment,” she shares, almost robotically, as Roman moves to help her sit up, finally broken from his trance at finding her in such a state. He moves to brush her hair out of her face. “But, there….there was no heartbeat.”

A silence she’ll never ever be able to forget for as long as she lives.

And just like that, a fresh wave of tears accompanied by another wave of contractions have her hunched over, except not into herself, but into his strong body, his arms instantly moving to hold her, his mouth pressed into the top of the hair as her fingers cling to his biceps. Her body shaking as she sobs once more, but not alone.

Not alone at all.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, the sound somehow audible over the volume of her wailing, and she can’t be certain, is too deeply immersed in the throes of her own sorrow, but she could have sworn she heard his voice crack at the end.

She’s not sure how long they sit there. Just knows that she cries and cries and cries until it feels like her entire body has been depleted. Like, she has nothing left to give.

And maybe, just maybe, she doesn’t.

“I think….” He finally breaks the silence, Solana unsure why she continues to lean into him despite her crying subsiding. “I think you need to go to the hospital.”

“No,” she shakes her head, fingers grasping at the cotton of his shirt, feeling one hand on the small of her back, the other cradling the back of her head. “I—I chose this route. I—I already took the pill. This…this is just…it’s what happens.” A weak explanation, perhaps, one that’s probably difficult for him to follow, but it’s all she has to give.

“Can….can I get you in the shower?” A different question, posed gently, Solana initially preparing to object once again when she realizes why he’s suggesting as such.

The blood….

Wiping off won’t be as effective. She needs to shower.

It’s why she offers an equally quiet, “yes” and nothing else.

But, nothing else is needed as Roman once more proceeds gingerly, carefully helping her to her feet, guiding her to sit on the toilet after he closes the seat.

But, she stops, realizing the transference that will occur, similar to the red smears that mar the tile flooring. Roman must pick up on the source of the hesitation, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about that.” An added and murmured, “I’ll clean it.”

Sniffling, she sits down and resumes that blank stare, partially aware as to how he moves around quickly, readying the shower, gathering a change of clothes for them both, returning to check the temperature of the water once more before stepping before her.

“Come on….” The gentleness is maintained as he one by one helps pry and pull her clothes off her body, Solana reaching to hold onto his big shoulders when he slides her pants down her legs, as she closes her eyes, having to once again ignore what the sight must look like.

The scent and aroma of the blood.

It’s everywhere, but if it bothers him, he does the best job not showing as such. Just helps her into the shower, Solana only becoming more aware of what’s happening when he steps in with her, shirt discarded but sweats still very much on.

She frowns, seeing him reach for the wash cloth, the water drenching both of them equally. “You’re….you’re getting wet…”

He shakes his head, “it’s fine.”

And, he washes her. Gentle, tender gestures, especially as he moves to rid her body of where the blood started to cake and stick. Is attentive in the way she winces when hit with more contractions. Is uncaring of the way the bleeding continues, mixing with the water and emptying down the drain.

Additional blurring of time and reality as she tunes out the sounds and movement around her, vaguely aware of when he helps her step out, wrapping the towel around her and not bothering to swap out his wet clothes for something warm and dry until she’s dressed, even handling the placing of the pad on her underwear.

He takes care of everything.

At some point, he carries her into their once shared bedroom, lays her down on the bed as he disappears in the bathroom. She can’t….she can’t allow herself to think too much about that.

She instead is forced to focus on the pain that wrecks through her whole body, the discomfort, and everything else. All of which, she has to admit, is slightly dulled by his presence.

Maybe even more than slightly.

A familiar sound from the side of the bed makes Solana bend over to see Dulce sitting and and looking up, her ears going down when they make eye contact.

Her whimper signifies her concern, Solana reaching down to caress the top of her head. “I’m okay, baby.”

It’s the reassurance her sweet senior dog needs, Solana retracting her hand, watching Dulce slowly walk back over to her bed, laying down on her side.

It’s a comforting act, but one that also reminds her of a time where Dulce would have been in the bathroom with her, watchful and attentive, most likely running through the house to alert someone, usually Roman, that something is wrong.

But, that was then. Solana knows her sweet baby has far more days behind her than ahead of her, spending most of her time these days eating and sleeping.

Another loss she’s not sure she can even think about right now.

If ever.

Roman emerges from the bathroom, Solana managing to sit up in bed and redirect her focus from her longtime companion to her longtime partner.

It’s only then that she takes in Roman’s appearance. Not the fresh set of sweats and black shirt, but his face. The frizz of his loose curls, partially dried bust mostly wet from the shower. The lines around his mouth and forehead, the darkness under his eyes that seem even deeper than the last time she saw him. A deep five o' clock shadow. The fullness of his beard, an almost unkempt look about it. He looks tired and worn out, and she can’t tell if it’s from the borderline traumatic event he walked in on or the ones that have marred their marriage for the past few months.

“Do you want something to eat?” He asks, an almost uncertainty to his tone.

Shaking her head, knowing there could be some benefit but not enough to get her to agree. “No.”

Roman nods, briefly gesturing over to Dulce. “I’m gonna feed the dogs then.”

Solana frowns, glancing over at the clock on the nightstand. She hadn’t even realized it was time for their dinner. Her eyes remain on Roman as he walks over and rubs the top of Dulce’s head before waking her, being met with her tongue licking the back of his hand. He stands up, holding her. “I’ll be right back.”

He wasn’t lying.

It feels like less than ten minutes later, he’s back in the room, having pulled up one of the chairs in the corner of their room to the side of the bed.

Her side.

Laying back down, the pain coming in with another brutal wave, she asks in a quiet voice, “aren’t you…aren’t you hungry?”

Because it’s usually not too long after the evening feeding of their pets, that Solana is placing food on plates, the family sharing dinner together as they always do.

Or, used to, at least.

Roman shifts in the chair, shaking his head. “No. Not right now.”

It’s hard not to wonder if his appetite has been shaken by the scene at hand or everything else. Maybe both.

“What…what do you need?”

It’s the most unexpected question. Layered. Charged. Not one that can be answered simply, because a part of her feels like it’s in regards to more than just her current miscarriage. It’s in regards to it all.

“I don’t know.” The only answer she can give him, because it’s all she has right now and truly the most accurate thing she’s probably said all day.

——————

The pain continues, Solana mostly staying limited to the bed with the exception of when she has to use the bathroom or change pads. It’s the extent of her walking and movement, Roman serving as an almost buffer, ensuring she stays where she is as he delivers her everything she needs. It’s not much. Just water, Gatorade, and the occasional snack, mostly fruit, as it’s really the only thing she has an appetite for. She doesn't have much of an appetite at all, but it’s not an acceptable answer for Roman, who doesn't let up until she has at least a couple of grapes and three strawberries in her system.

He eventually eats as well, mostly at her encouragement. A reminder of some leftover dinner from the night prior that he quickly warms up and takes to consume right in that chair beside the bed.

He doesn’t allow himself to be away from her for too long.

It’s….appreciated.

After replying to texts from at least her kids, right in time as she’s crippled with another wave of vicious contractions, Solana is back on her side, hand under the right side of her face, turned towards Roman.

He’s leaned over, pushing her hair out of her face, her eyes being closed not preventing her from already knowing and picturing the same concerned expression he’s had since his arrival.

“Do….do you remember Koa and Kai’s sixth birthday party?”

Where it comes from, she hasn’t the slightest clue, just knows she appreciates it greatly when he doesn’t question, doesn’t deter from answering. Just goes along.

Roman’s quiet chuckle is equally welcomed, as Solana opens her eyes to see him lower his hand, sitting forward in the chair. “I don’t think it’s possible to forget it.”

It’s the first time she’s smiled in hours. Small but there. “They were so annoyed.”

She can still picture the irritated scowl on their faces when she told them the party wasn’t over after they asked about 30 minutes in when everyone was going home.

“You did invite a lot of people.”

“Most of the attendees were family.”

“You know that doesn't make much of a difference to them.”

She opens her mouth to refute only to realize she doesn’t have one, because he’s right. It’s a fact that makes her travel even further back.

“Now that you mention it, they had the same scowl at their first birthday party.”

Roman’s smile deepens, his eyes twinkling with something. “Screamed almost the whole damn time.”

It’s not an exaggeration, either. Koa and Kai threw the biggest tantrum, only settled by a tablet being placed in their hand or one of their parents holding them.

A soft giggle that helps soothe the pain in her body. “As Tama cut the cake before we even got a chance.”

Roman sucks his teeth. “I still don’t know how he got the damn knife.”

“He’s like Lina. When he wants something, he doesn’t stop until he gets it. They’re stubborn like that.” And with the softest voice, “they get it from you...”

Perhaps the wrong thing to say though as the small smile on his face is wiped away, Roman’s eyes settling on the plush gray carpet. “They’d hate hearing you say that.” Solana isn’t quite sure how she wants to respond to that—if she wants to respond at all—when he adds, almost sadly, “just like they hate me.”

Silence.

A thick, heavy blanket of dense silence that she still isn’t sure how to break, how to react and what to say. Just knows that the doleful tone of his voice as well as in his expression tugs at something within her.

Tug deep, too.

“They don’t hate you, Roman.”

Neither do I.

“They hate what you did.”

So do I.

But, it seems her words do nothing for the even thicker wall of grief and shame that’s wrapped itself all around him. “Yes, they do, and they should.” Finally, he lifts his gaze to meet hers. Steady but broken. “Especially you.”

Another smack in the face. Some ways, more painful than the contractions that have her bedridden.

She’s thought about it a lot. Too much. Cried over it. Cried over it ten times more. Just what she feels about and towards her husband. Anger? Sure. Hurt? Of course? Hate?

That….that’s a hard thing to answer.

She hates what he did, absolutely, but hating him….

There’s only been a few people in her life that she hated, and comparing their transgressions to Roman, while his were awful, theirs were just outright evil.

It just feels….it feels wrong to put him in that category.

She just doesn’t know, however, what category to put him in.

There is one thing she knows for a fact though that she hates.

Something she ends up sharing with him.

“Ya know….when….when I was waiting for you to get here, I—I thought of something, and I—I hate myself for even thinking it,” she murmurs, eyes closing again from a combination of her psychical and emotional discomfort. “I thought….I thought how unfair it is that she gets have her baby….but I lost ours.”

An awful thought process, something she’s deeply ashamed of, because she knows that’s not how this works. But, regardless of her judgment or not, it’s just how she feels.

His shoulders drop. “Solana…”

She sniffles, throat starting to burn again. “We couldn’t have kept it anyway. I—I know that—”

His jaw tightens, another wave of guilt smashing and landing all over his entire being. “Sol, what I said that day—”

“It’s not just about what you said, Roman.” Because it’s not. It’s so much more than that. “You’re right. We do have a lot of kids, and it—it would be wrong to bring another one into the world when we’re already stretched thin.” And finally, a confession. An acknowledgment. “When….I haven’t done the best job making time for them and you.”

And, without her even saying anything, without her elaborating, she knows that he knows what she’s talking about. “That wasn’t an excuse.” His voice deepens, the assertion thick and firm. “There will never be a good enough fucking excuse for what I’ve done.” Roman’s eyes drop once more to the ground. “The damage I’ve caused.”

She won’t deny that last part. Maybe any of it. Especially when she struggles with figuring out just how much of this damage is beyond fixing.

Irreparable.

“I agree,” she whispers. “But…but, I also understand where you were coming from. What you meant. What you were missing." Her. He was missing her. “And, I’m sorry, too.”

His eyes lift to her, the surprise dancing in his irises unmistakable. Solana doesn’t feel like she’s to blame at all for his actions. He made the choice he did, and regardless of how neglected he may have felt by her, it was the wrong thing to do.

Plain and simple.

But….but, she can at least own up to and won’t skip out on accountability for the role she did play in causing him to feel the way that he did.

She didn’t recognize it then.

But, she most certainly sees it now.

As the tears rolls down her face, and she hisses from the pain, Roman moves his hand to her hip. She doesn’t move it. “Can—can I tell you something?”

He swallows. “You can tell me anything.”

And, even with everything that’s happened, the collapse of their relationship and marriage, that still remains to be true.

Feels like it’ll always be true.

“I think….I think the reason I wanted…I wanted to do it at home.” There’s no need to specify what it is. They both know exactly what it is. “Is because if I couldn’t—if I couldn’t take our baby home, I wanted to—to” She stops, her voice caught up in the sob that’s rising to the surface. “—at least be able to have her at home.”

Solana breaks down in sobs, the toll of the loss and what it meant to her, what it means to her.

This was her baby.

Her baby.

Their baby….their baby.

——————

“Was it a girl?”

Roman’s question pulls Solana from her hyperfocus on her discomfort, has her looking up at him to see the thick of his beard, his gaze on their tray ceiling.

She closes her eyes, tightening her arm around his body, holding onto him.

At some point after she’d returned from the bathroom, she’d requested it. Reached for his hand, saying nothing, just guiding him to join her in bed where she attached herself to him, holding onto him and not letting go or moving since.

There was no thought behind it, no layers of contemplation or wonders of appropriateness. She needed him.

That’s all there was to it.

“I don’t know,” she croaks. Her throat juggles between feeling burnt and scratchy from all the tears she’s cried over the past 12+ hours. “I—I wasn’t far along enough for them to tell, and the only way is through genetic testing, but they—they’d need tissue from the gestational sac in order to do that.” And as if already knowing what question will come next, his most likely confusion, she shares, “it’s….it’s essentially the baby. But, once it passes through me, I’d….I’d have to go through the bl—blo—”

It’s impossible to get out, Solana suddenly hit with some of the horror stories she read about from women who’d miscarried at home and made the brave decision to retrieve the gestational sac from the blood that passed. Some with a desire to see their baby, not wanting to flush the lost life down the toilet. Wanting to give a burial of sorts. And some wanting to know what resulted in the loss altogether, hence giving the fetus over to the hospital so they could complete the testing.

Truth be told, Solana would like to know and thought, perhaps, she could withstand that act.

But, she knows now that was a naive.

She can’t even stomach the thought of that.

“Shhh,” he hushes, stroking the small of her back as she sniffles.. “I…I understand.”

He can’t. No one can, but she appreciates his attempt regardless.

“Can I ask you something?”

For a brief second, she considers saying no. Not quite sure what he’s going to ask, but even more, if she’s up to it. However, the desire to know outweighs the fear of the question.

“Yes.”

An obvious hesitation. “Why did you text me?”

She certainly wasn’t expecting that. Nevertheless, it’s a valid question, and not of an irritated, why did you bother me notion. No, the unmistakable dip in his volume at the word ‘me’ is all the confirmation to know exactly what he means.

Of all the wonderful, amazing people in her life, why did she text him given everything that’s happened?

And, as heavy and layered the question is, the answer ends up being anything but.

Tears filling her eyes once more, she holds him a little tighter, responding honestly and truthfully.

“Because I needed my best friend...”

——————

“It’s not my baby, Solana.”

The least expected thing to break the silence they’d settled into and something that has Solana feeling like for a good few seconds or so, she stops breathing.

“What?”

“She’s too far along. The math…” He stops, similar to Solana’s heart.

It’s not his child?

His hand stills with the gentle rubbing, as if wanting her focus to be entirely on his words and not his movements. “I know you have no reason to believe or trust me, but I promise you, Solana, whatever that means anymore, that test is going to come back showing and proving it’s not my kid.”

He’s right about one thing.

She has no reason to trust or believe anything that comes out of his mouth.

He lied to her.

Has been lying to her.

But….

There’s something about the sincerity in his tone, the fact that she can’t see him lying about something like this, even to cover his own ass, at a time like this. Where she’s currently losing their baby. After she was vulnerable enough to share this moment, her thoughts, feelings, and everything else with him.

That….that she can’t believe he would do.

Or, maybe she just doesn’t want to.

If he’s waiting for a response, he doesn’t receive one. Though something tells her that that’s not why he told her. Why he’s telling her now. He’s telling her because he wants her to know because she deserves to know. Deserves to know the extent of her husband’s betrayal. It doesn’t take away what he did or make that shit any less painful than it’s already been.

But, if….if he’s right, it does make a difference.

Maybe not major, but a difference, nonetheless.

————

Around 4 o’clock in the morning, Roman ends up taking her to the ER.

It’s at his suggestion but Solana’s, eventual, agreement. From a medical standpoint, she knows she’s passing too much blood, going through too many pads far too quickly. Even after…even after passing the gestational sac.

It’s a horrific moment she’ll never forget the longest day she lives.

How they proceed with treating her is nothing out of the ordinary, nothing she didn’t already expect. She knew they’d have to proceed with the D&C procedure she perhaps should have allowed in the first place.

Would have most likely chosen from the beginning if she knew then what she knows now.

But, there’s something partially surprising and unexpected when she comes to from her anesthesia and is met with beeping machines, far too white lights, the sterile smell of a private hospital room.

And, Roman.

He has a chair pulled up to the side of the bed, sitting forward, Solana catching the way he blinks away what has to be a deep set of exhaustion.

He’s been up with her this entire time.

“Hey….”

She breathes slowly, frowning and lifting her hand without the IV to rub at her eyes. “Hey….” She makes a sound, still trying to come all the way to. “You’re…you’re still here.”

It’s not that she was expecting him to leave.

It’s that she wasn’t expecting him to stay.

But, he looks at her with such surprise, as if that was the one and only option, and for her to think anything else is just wrong.

“Of course,” he breathes. And just like that, she knows there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. Nowhere else he would be. “The doctor said we should get back the results from the genetic testing in a few days.”

Coming to awareness is made a little bit easier as discombobulation settles into a simpler form of confusion, Solana’s frown deepening. “What?” She manages to sit up a little, Roman standing and his hands hovering, as if ready to assist. Always ready. “But, I….I already passed the…” She stops herself, unable to finish the sentence she knows he doesn’t need completed. It’s relatively easy enough to put two and two together to know what she means. “So, how did they get…”

Shaking her head, trailing off, brows furrowed from her confusion as she tries to figure out what doesn't make any sense to her, it’s only when they lock eyes that she sees it. Sees the shift of emotions in his warm eyes. Hurt. Pain. Sorrow. Contrition.

Grief.

She knows. Doesn’t need to ask. Doesn’t need all the details. She just knows.

A hoarse, whispered “oh” the extent of what she can say. All she knows how to say. Because what does one say to that? How does one express appreciation for such an act? Something she couldn’t bring herself to do because of the traumatic nature but something he did. He did it for her.

He’s done it all for her.

Came to help her when she needed it the most, stayed by her side the entire time without a single word of protest. Never taking a break or respite. Even as she dozed off to sleep for brief periods of time, he stayed up. Took care of her. Tended to her.

And, he’s here.

Still here.

Been here.

That….that means something. And now this last act of unadulterated selflessness?

It means everything.

It also boils down to one single question that Solana is starting to realize she needs to figure out.

And fast.