She loved him. That wasn't the point.
She couldn't live without him. She needed him. She wanted him. For all she knew, she was apart of him. They were one being united by the simple aspect of love. She was him. And she thought that was all that mattered.
But then he killed her.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Scott. Mr. Scott. I can't find a heartbeat." She swallowed. Stupid lady didn't have to tell her that. She had ears damn it. They weren't just two holes plastered randomly on her head. She didn't need some lady, who probably wasn't even a doctor, tell her some shit that she already knew.
But it helped.
It made her forget momentarily that she was broken. She would bash the lady, and her feelings of her deceased child could escape for a moment. Oh, just a moment.
But like any moment, it would be gone.
Her baby was dead. That little jellybean-sized baby living inside her was dead, and it killed her to know she couldn't save him.
Him. It was going to be a boy.
She was silly enough to imagine life after the birth of her son. They would all hold hands and stumble across the park, hearing the squeak of his tiny voice demand the empty spot on the swing. He would be stubborn, like both of his parents, and she wanted him to look like his father; tall, determined, with incredible eyes. And then they could all live happily ever after, like a fairytale she would read to him at night.
She was going to be a mother. Heck, she was a mother. And mothers are supposed to protect their children. Her baby wasn't even born yet, and he was dead. She felt dead, too. What a mother she would be.
What bullshit.
One week. Two weeks. One month. Two months.
The time escaped the tiny grasp she held. She laid in bed most of the day, refusing to get up. She didn't say anything, but stared blankly into his eyes, and he'd try to understand. He'd nod along, like he was feeling like what she was feeling. He'd try to make her feel better in any way he could.
He didn't get it.
He'd never get it, as much as he would try. He'd never understand the pain that tortured her.
She was aware of the constant whisperings scattered in such a small town. They thought she was crazy and too dramatic. They thought she needed to get her lazy ass out of bed and to start getting things back together.
She began to wonder herself why she hadn't done so yet. She had tried pulling herself out of bed, but the ache of her heart weighed her down, losing all self-control. It wasn't worth it anymore.
It's been three months now. She stopped going to school. He still did, but he was flunking.
She stopped tutoring him.
"I made you something," he said one day, handing her a bowl of macaroni and cheese. It smelled kind of funky, but he was proud.
"I don't want it," she said simply. But she wanted it.
"But it's your favorite."
"No, it's not." Yes, it was.
"Hales-"
"Go away." Stay with me.
"It was my fault." She finally looked at him. He was sitting down on the bed, his eyes heavy from studying and working and cleaning and cooking and doing everything she used to do. They didn't have that sparkle it used to.
She killed that sparkle.
"The baby. Our son… he's dead because of me." He was scared. He thought he was some kind of evil man, someone like his father. She pretended like she wasn't listening, but she was. She listened to him talk, which soon turned into defeated crying, as he explained about everything. Dan. Daunte. The championship.
The car accident was Daunte's revenge, and it cost her precious child's life. It made her sick. She might have killed that single sparkle in his eyes, but he killed their child. It was just as worse as killing her.
He told her not to be mad. He still didn't get it. She wasn't mad; she was devastated beyond reason. He betrayed her! He fucking betrayed her because he wasn't man enough to ask for her help.
"You should go," she murmured bluntly. Don't go. Don't leave me. I'm going to change real soon. Just hang in there for a second. Just hang in there, okay? Always and forever, right?
It was a shame she didn't say it.
There was no point in arguing. He had tried for many months, but it was all a useless cause. She would never listen to him, let alone look at him.
He felt like a monster.
Then finally, he left the messy apartment without a word. She used to keep it so neat, and he liked to watch her on Sunday mornings when she did her best to scrub out some pizza stain that one of his friends left. She would always looked flustered, with one hand placed firmly on her hip, the other hand holding up a bottle of some carpet cleaner.
Those days were long over. She made that clear, but it broke him into a million pieces. But he got this notion fixed into his head that she was coming for him one day to pick up those pieces and place them gently back together.
But the cold reality faced him; those days were over. And it killed him everyday to be reminded of it.
It killed him when she told him to leave the apartment
It killed him hen she wouldn't look him in the eye.
It killed him when he called on Valentine's Day, and she let the machine answer it.
It killed him when she didn't send anything on his birthday. No phone call, no visit. No nothing. Just the harsh feel of her absence.
It killed him when she wasn't there for her best friend's wedding or her sister's funeral.
It killed him when his brother would constantly tell him that he couldn't believe he left her. It killed him even more when he'd reply "She left me long before that."
But the day he knew he was dead was the day she sent the divorce papers. Her name was already signed, the letters sharp, laced with obvious traces of pain.
And there was nothing he could do about it.
She would always tell herself that. She would tell herself he was just a boy, and he wasn't a man. He was the boy who killed her child, and the boy who stopped loving her. The boy who couldn't help bring herself back together. The boy who believed her when she said, "You should go." He was the boy who believed that she really meant it.
He wanted what was best for her, and if this was what she wanted, he would give it to her. Even if he thought it was the biggest mistake in the world.
"Is this what you really want?" He had finally persuaded her to open the door. He was good with words. "I just need to know." Pure silence. "I'm a bad guy, I get it." He wasn't, and they both knew that. "But I can change. I'll do it. I'll do it all for you. Anything. You want me… you want me to get you back in school? I'll do it. You want me to quit basketball? I'll do it. You want me to build a garden of those little purple flowers? I'll do it. Just let me do something for you Haley, anything. Let me do anything."
"There's nothing you can do Nathan." She spoke softly.
"There's got to be something, Hales!"
"I wanted my son." Her words were harsh now. "But you wrecked that. You can't take that back." She looked tired and even old. Most of all, she looked lonely. "You want to do something for me, Nathan? Sign the papers so you can be free. Leave me. Don't suffer with me. It's not worth it."
"I can't do that. I can't leave you. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" He was crying, sobbing. He was on his knees, begging for forgiveness. This was the boy she made him become.
"It's over. It's all over." She wasn't crying, but her words were empty. It was like she had been crying for days, and all the tears were dried up.
"We could grow those flowers together! We could have another son! And maybe a daughter… and we could watch them grow up and take them to kindergarten… and watch their first basketball game or their musical or – "
"No, Nathan."
"I love you, Haley!"
She loved him. That wasn't the point.