Ch. 8 – Kenbridge Virginia, January 1999

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"The ceremony was nice," Sasha murmured as they crossed the parking lot, waiting for Tom to open the door to the hotel where they were staying, the first time she had spoken since they left the cemetery.

Even as the words left her mouth, Sasha could have kicked herself. Did she really just say that the ceremony was nice? Like they were at a barbecue or a clam bake rather than burying their son?

"It was important to my parents," Tom replied quietly.

Sasha knew that he spoke the truth – the loss of their first grandchild had shaken Jed and Irene deeply – but she also knew that there was more to it than that. "And you?"

Tom took a deep breath, a guarded look on his face. "Yes. I wanted him to be … somewhere safe."

Pain slashed through Sasha at the words. Somewhere safe. She hadn't been able to do that for their little boy. Her body failing at its most important task – keeping her child alive.

"It's not too far from Norfolk," Tom continued. "If we want to come visit the grave. Put up a stone. Plant some flowers."

A swell of panic engulfed Sasha. Today was bad enough. But coming back? Reliving the last month over and over again?

She couldn't do it.

"I was thinking that maybe a fresh start would be better," she said slowly.

"You mean away from Newport?" Tom asked, his attention appearing to be only half on what she was saying as he unlocked the door to their hotel room.

"Actually I was thinking the West Coast. Maybe we could put in for San Diego," Sasha replied, trying to put some enthusiasm into her voice.

Tom frowned. "I'd rather stay a little closer. My parents will be upset being that far away from us, especially once ….."

He trailed off, but it didn't take a genius to figure out what he was about to say.

Especially once we have kids.

"I don't think I can do this again." The words came out in a rush, a wave of relief tumbling through Sasha as she finally said out-loud what she had been thinking for weeks.

"What do you mean?"

"I've been thinking about things and I'm not sure that I really want to be a mother. My job isn't exactly compatible with kids and you know how much I love the Navy." She flipped her hair back over her shoulder, pushing down the despair that threatened to overwhelm her, daring him to argue with her.

Which he did, of course. "You don't mean that. You wanted this baby as much as I did."

Which was true.

She did want this baby as much as he did, falling in love the second she received the confirmation that she was, in fact, pregnant. Like Tom, she had embraced parenthood, sharing the news with friends and family, talking about baby names, going so far as withdrawing her name from consideration for her dream job. Only to learn, days later, that even as she made plans for the future, even as she talked about names and joked about maternity leave and made plans for a baby shower, her baby was already dead.

Dead.

Maybe for weeks, based on the measurements – a missed miscarriage, the doctor called it. Her body unable to let go in death of the child it couldn't take care of in life.

There was no way she could do that again.

Ever.

And if that meant never being a mother, so be it.

"Accepting something once it's a fait accompli is not the same as wanting it," Sasha snapped, waiting for him to do it. Waiting for him to blow up at her, tell her that this was all her fault, that she was the reason that their baby was gone. Waiting for him to push her away.

But Tom did none of that. "Sasha, now is not the right time to talk about this. We're both grieving for Tommy and today was a hard day. Let's get through the wedding and then we can talk about it."

His oh-so-rational response served only to infuriate her. "And what makes you think that there will be a wedding?"

For a moment the raw pain in his eyes made her want to snatch the words back, but she didn't. Instead she waited, eyes flashing, chin out in challenge. But when Tom answered his voice was flat. "I've always said that wearing the ring was your choice, Sasha."

Sasha gazed at the beautiful ring that Tom gave her only months earlier. Her mind calling up, unprompted, how happy they were that day. The way he slid the ring onto her finger. The way he kissed her stomach. The promise of their future together – Tom, Sasha and their baby – as a family.

A dream that simply wasn't meant to be.

And just like that she knew. She knew that she could be happy with just him – just the two of them – focusing on their careers and traveling and maybe someday in the far future getting a dog.

But Tom would never be happy with that.

Because even now, he was thinking about more babies, thinking about a family. That was what he saw when he looked at that ring.

And she couldn't go through this again.

Ever.

Sliding off the ring she had worn for less than three months, heart shattering into a million pieces, Sasha set it down on the nondescript desk of the hotel room.

She was at the door when his voice, low and hoarse, stopped her. "Don't go, Sasha. We can fix this. We can make this work."

She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the urge to turn around, to fall into his arms, to believe what he was saying, to believe that everything would be okay. But she couldn't. If she did, if she went through with the wedding, she would be dooming them – dooming him – to half a life. One where he would always yearn for something that could never be. Something that she could never give to him.

Tom would never complain, never pressure her, never leave, Sasha knew that without a doubt. But he would also never be truly happy. And that was what, above all else, she wanted for Tom. For him to be happy.

Sasha turned the knob. "I'm sorry. I can't."