The hospital discharges me the next day with instructions to stay in bed. I’m happy to be out of the hospital until I realize I no longer have a home; I don't know what's going to happen now that I’m not pregnant. There’s no way Evan is going to want me at his place and the money—oh God—how am I ever going to pay him back? I don't even have a job anymore.
Evan walks into the hospital room with a wheelchair; I haven't seen him since last night…I thought he’d left. After all, he had no reason to stay, but he’s wearing the same clothes, which meant he probably did stay. I have bittersweet feelings about that. "Evan…you didn't have to stay with me."
"Don't be ridiculous," he says, not looking at me. He pulls the sheets off me and helps me out of bed. I’m a bit sore, but not as much as I expected. I sit in the wheelchair and Evan pushes me out of the room; he doesn't say a word as he helps me into the car or on the drive home. I don't know what I want him to say—but I want him to say something.
"Would you like me to carry you?" he asks when we reach the building.
"No, I think I'm good," I murmur, standing up. He’s careful with his touch—his hand barely pressed on my lower back—as he helps me inside. The walk to the elevator is an eternity. I don't know what to say to him; I know I already apologized a thousand times and another apology won’t help. I’m…helpless.
When we reach my room, it’s spotless, like nothing happened. My throat is thick with emotion.
"Here's your phone," he says after he helps me into bed. "It kept ringing, so I answered—it was your friend Flora. You should call her."
"Thanks," I whisper, taking the phone.
"Do you need anything?" he asks, looking at me.
"No, thank you."
He nods once. "Okay." He turns around and walks out.
I look around my room with a sigh, my eyes filling with tears. God, this is horrible—I hate this. I toss my phone, burying my face in the pillow so Evan can't hear me; I don't know how long I cry for before falling asleep. When I wake up, it’s dark. I search for my phone in the darkness and press the button to check the time.
3:56 a.m.
My mouth is dry and I stand, making my way to the kitchen. I open the fridge and reach for a water bottle that I drink up in one go, then grab another. Turning to head back to my room, I jump when I see him. I hadn't noticed Evan sitting in the living room; he’s in the dark—I can only make out his shadow.
"Evan?" I whisper, frowning, trying to get a better look at him. I reach for the lights and turn them on. He’s sitting on the couch with a glass of wine, staring at the floor like he’s trying to figure out something.
"Are you alright?" I ask, cautiously walking closer.
He nods slowly as he takes a sip. "You should be sleeping."
"I got thirsty." I’m relieved—I thought he’d gone into shock or something. He's okay.Evan doesn't say anything and neither do I. I stand there, wondering if it's the right time to talk. "I—"
"Ciara, I swear to god, if you apologize again—"
"I wasn't." I gulp. "I was going to ask when you wanted me to move out…"
He finally looks at me. His usual bright eyes are darker, complete with dark circles under his eyes. His hair is messy and for once, he’s not wearing a suit—just normal shorts with a t-shirt.Evan looks really tired. "What?"
"Well…since I’m not pregnant anymore, I assume you don’t want me here, which is fine. I mean, I get it, but I wanted to know if you wanted me out on a particular day?” Hearing myself, I realize this was not the right time for this conversation. He’s mourning.
He shakes his head. "Don't assume anything."
What?
I sigh, moving in front of him. "Listen, Evan—I'm sorry, okay? I don't know what to say to you, but I feel guilty and…bad for what happened. You’re also not really speaking to me and I don't know what to make of it. Do you hate me now?" My question comes out as a whisper.
"Of course I don't hate you," he says softly.
"Is this your way of grieving then? Silence?"
He shrugs. "I guess."
I lower to my knees so we’re at the same level, and he looks at me, probably wondering why I’m so close to him. Close enough to smell him, close enough to see how tired he is, Cclose enough to hear him breathe. It’s both amazing and scary but I push my thoughts away. "That's not very healthy."
"What do you want me to do? Cry?"
"Yes."
He shakes his head. "That's not happening, Ciara."
"You don't have to be so tough all the time. It was your baby, Evan—it's okay to have emotions. It's okay to mourn."
He takes another sip of the wine, a moment of silence between us. I stare at him as he stares at the glass in his hand—his silence freaks me out. Can Evan really be that heartless? I don't believe it. This is the man that hired me because he wanted a baby…he can't be heartless.
"You know, I was sitting here wondering why I can't have anything good in my life," he finally says. "I have everything, yet I don't have anything. I’m not happy." He looks at me. " Why don't I feel happy? I just wanted to have something—someone—to make me happy. My bride ran from me and my baby died. What am I doing wrong?"
I didn't realize Evan was holding in so much. I mean, I expected the baby stuff, but I guess I ‘d forgotten everything he’d been through.
I shake my head. "Don't blame yourself."
"Ciara, don't you see? I'm not destined to be happy. It's me—I'm the problem."
I don't know what to say. Nothing is going to make him feel better right now…so I do the only other thing I can to help him: I reach out and wrap my arms around him. He’s frozen for a moment but he doesn't push me away. Then, slowly, he puts his arms around me. He doesn't move, doesn't cry. Doesn't say a word and neither do I. I hope he feels better.
I know I do.