Tiny shoes

He slammed the door as he left. The harsh thud it made echoed inside the room. I lay still in my bed. Staring into the wall as if it can give me all the answers to the questions I never had the chance to ask. I lay there as the time passed by. How long was it? How long will it take before he can forgive me? Or, even the chance of me forgiving myself? He told me it doesn’t matter anymore; that we still have each other and that is still a good thing to hold on.

But I can’t help to notice how he always try to fake a smile when his friends would come over for beer and they would start talking about how their cute little Junior had his first step, his first set of teeth and the like. And silently, I’m dying inside. It’s like reopening a scar over and over again– intensifying the pain over and over again.

We had our chance. Had. In an almost successful attempt to get what we want, we were there. Almost. But like every sad what if’s story we didn’t have it. And it was my fault. My carelessness. We had the baby for only 2 months and a week. The doctor told me to be very careful always; that I need this vitamins and this amount of rest. But I didn’t take it seriously. I became restless. I’m a restless woman always. I hate being in bed for more than 5 hours. I go out. I enjoy the beach, I read books in the coffee shop and I shop a lot. And I over work sometimes. It’s on my veins. I enjoy what I am doing. And I always thought that since I’m a strong woman and so does my husband– or that was just playing in my head, because the night we lost the baby both of us were shattered.

I cried. I cried like there’s no tomorrow. I cried like a child, never wanting to stop. And he was crying too. There were no sounds. But there were tears. He was not a crying man– he never cried when I tried to broke up with him a year after we first dated or even at his sister’s funeral. And when I saw the tears, it killed me. A million times.

“It will be okay,” he assured me as we were leaving the hospital.

But it didn’t work that way. Nothing was okay when we went home. The ghost of our old selves creep at every nook of our home but not us. We stayed out for as long as possible and as far from each other as we can. We fight when we’re together. And it hurts when the baby-issue would be brought up. And just like today, he would slam the door and leave me.

I stood up, went out and found myself in front of the unused room in our home. This little room that none of us had the courage to open in the last 6 months. Oh it was that long but it still feels like it was yesterday.

I heaved a sigh. It will be now or never. I turned the knob and the slow screech of the door brought mixed emotions into my consciousness but this time, there will be no turning back. I closed my eyes and open it after a minute or so, the crib was the first thing that registered into my mind. White as snow with little pillows and some stuffed bears on it. The wall was covered with a mixture of pink and blue wallpaper, to anticipate the gender of the baby. He argued that it was probably a girl because I was glowing. I don’t know and it doesn’t matter today.

My eyes caught something beneath the bears and pillows in the crib– it was a pair of baby shoes. A tiny shoes that would surely fit the tiny feet of our little angel. If it’s really a girl, will it get his father’s eyes? I love those eyes, full of expression and he has a better lashes than me. Definitely my skin. I want her to be a bit lighter than her daddy. Tall but not much and of course, my hair. Her father loves them, so she will definitely get it from me. She’ll play soccer like I do and would definitely get the high spirit and risk-taker confidence from her father. And I hope his programming skills.

Tears were falling. I don’t know why but they were here when I realized that I was reopening the wounds again. I hugged the tiny shoes tight. It was the closest that I could get to her. A warm arms enveloped me and I closed my eyes. He kissed my hair.

“Shh.. shhh. We can do it. We ┬ácan make it. It will be better, I promise. I’ll try, ” he whispered. I hold on to him. I’m not letting go. Never.

 

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