When the blame dies

Tigger warning: miscarriage

The room was dark when I quietly twisted the lock. This room had seen days, where my eyes were filled with nothing but tears and agony and nights weren’t much better. My heart ached thinking about those nights and days. It was a miracle that we survived, somehow, we passed through. It took three days to change the theme of the room, just three days. The color changed, the bed changed, but not the anticipation.

My body ached and my lids barely stayed open as I laid in the bed which was too small for my frame. The bedsheet smelled new and fresh. I hoped, he would like this. By this, I meant toys we bought, pillow, bed, this room, and everything we purchased for him led to a fight between me and my husband. Yet we had the same thought that he would not tomorrow but someday he would accept us, like us, love us and eventually call us his.

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The freshly brewed coffee made me open my eyes from my dream, smiling face of my husband, Mark with coffee in his hands greeted me softly before he kissed my forehead. I smiled before sipping the coffee from the cup.

Mark was always a cheerful person, full of life, full of dreams. But it wasn’t like he wasn’t changed after that incident. We both did. he became more cheerful and I became more reserved

Sometimes, I wondered and asked him how the heck he ended up with a person like me. He would say I was his soulmate. I didn’t believe in soulmates, it was too good to be true.

Over the past six months, we merely existed on the same plane, living under the same roof, eating meals at the same table, sleeping in the same bed. But we were far from sharing our lives together. It changed two weeks ago, we received a call, a miracle happened and here we were. Two weeks ago, I thought my marriage life was over. Now, we were waiting to start a new chapter in our life together.

“When we are leaving?” I asked Mark, he frowned.

“Plan changed, someone from orphanage gonna drop him here”

“oh” I tried to smile and took a deep breath as my doctor told me before looking at him. His eyes held concern for me as if he knew what I was going through.

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I bathed and changed my outfit a dozen times.it was not like he was seeing me for the first time. For the past two weeks, we filled forms, cleaned our home, renovated the room. We met him only two times just two times that’s it.

Now he was gonna look at me, at us as his home and this outfit gonna save in his mind forever as

His adopted parents 

His home, his room

His dad, his mom

I wanted it to be perfect, no mistake.

When the car pulled outside of our home, Mark held my hands tightly and his forest green eyes found me.

“He is gonna like us” he reassured me. This became our mantra for the last two weeks.

The door opened, curious little hazel eyes searched the living room, and finally settled on me. The universe stopped, we stared at each other, our hearts at stake, one wanted to be loved and wanted to love. I stood immobile as every fiber in my being screamed for me to say something to him. 

Mrs. West who came to drop Lucas cleared her throat

“Mrs. Wells, you have a beautiful home” I smiled at the compliment.

“Don’t be nervous, I just here to settle him down and you guys have family time” she chuckled.

Family, it sounds weird.

My husband, Mark came inside the living room with small luggage in his hands and placed his hands on Lucas's shoulder. 

“Wanna see your room buddy” Lucas nodded his head, hands gripping the strap of his back bag.

Did Lucas feel uncomfortable staying in some stranger’s home?

Did he feel uncomfortable calling some strangers his parents?

Was it going to be difficult to form the eternal connection between us like a family?

I took the tray of orange juice upstairs, I took a deep breath before knocking on the door.

“Here,” I told Lucas signaling the tray.

“Don’t want” he muttered and started to unpack his bad. I looked at my husband hoping he would ask ‘why not’

“You don’t like OJ,” Mark asked him. Lucas said yes.

“Okay, then Mango juice?”

Again no

“Maybe Apple juice”

Lucas chuckle said no again. But stopped Mark from continuing his question.

“I like Grapes juice.” 

“Tomorrow I get it from the supermarket,” I answered him. His hair was quite long like Mark, he had a single dimple like Mark, he had hazel eyes like me, even though we weren’t related. He just looked like us. Like our son.

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I called them both to the kitchen when I made the sandwich, they were laughing like old folks. Lucas was silent the whole time, now he was explaining some superhero comics to him. His gestures were childlike and so cute. Mark was laughing so hard when Lucas told him how the hero in the comics got his power. They looked like a family. When Mark's eyes met mine, the grin on his face wiped off. His eyes hold guilt and I couldn’t withstand it.

I went to the bathroom and locked the door, looked at me. Looked at me. My eyes, hold nothing but years of agony. I would do anything to change that black, black pit inside my heart. A silent sob tore through me.

Three miscarriage.

When it happened the first time, I didn’t even know I was pregnant. I was sad.

The second time, it made me numb.

Both times, I was just six or eight weeks pregnant.

But the third time, I was pregnant for six months. Six months of togetherness, six months of poring love to the baby, Building the crib, painting the room. It was the happiest six months of my life.

Six months of utter bliss.

Earth-shattering devastation.

A funeral for a child I would never get to see grow up.

When I had a miscarriage for the third time, it killed me. I’d always been amazed by how much punishment a heart could take. I was broken, battered, and destroyed. 

Mark was sad, shed few tears, and went back to normal, acted like we never lost a child. He would wake me up always with a smile on his face. I hated it so much. I wanted him to feel hurt I was feeling. Every day, it was like living in hell. His coping mechanism was different from mine. Perhaps he didn’t want to lose me too.

Two months back, Mark’s mom suggested adopting a child, I refused. I didn’t want to replace my baby, I wanted to carry this feeling to my grave.

When I saw Lucas in the orphanage, everything changed. He looked at me with those innocent pure eyes. I wanted to give him home, wanted to make him happy, wanted to pour my love into him.

I wiped my tears and faced my face.

“What do you want for lunch?” I asked Lucas, he shrugged and told me anything was fine. When I insisted, he told me that he wanted lasagna.

“Do you miss your friends?” I desperately wanted to start a conversation with him.

I was particularly good at nothing, very bad at small talks.

“Nay, I don’t have friends.” His eyes were sad and distant like he was remembering something.

“I didn’t have friends while growing up too,” I told him.

He pointed his small fingers to Mark. Mark was staring at me.

“He told me, you are his best friend”

“Am I?” I didn’t know whether I was asking this question to Lucas or Mark or myself. Lucas nodded his head and looked at me like I asked a stupid question.

“Yes, you are. You have Mark”

He was calling Mark ‘Mark’.

He’d need love and time to call as mom and dad

And I’d have plenty of love to give him

And I could wait.

“You have us” I patted his head, he smiled at me softly and Mark nodded his head.