You know, it's funny how one night can ruin your entire life. Just one single night. What started as any normal day ended so terribly I cannot even comprehend it. The memory is still kind of faded and fuzzy.
"Veronica! I'm home, Baby! I come bearing take-out as well!" I set a plastic bag of take-out on the counter. I still get no response from my wife. "Ronnie!"
I roll my eyes. Maybe she fell asleep doing homework again. I peek in the bedroom. She isn't there. Bathroom?
"Veronica, you okay?" I knock on the closed bathroom door. No response. "Veronica…" I turn the handle. It's locked. "Veronica, answer me!"
Still silence. "Open the goddamn door, Veronica!"
She doesn't. I grit my teeth in frustration as I dig through her jewelry box for a hairpin. I pick the lock easily. I have a knack for picking locks, I practiced a lot on her bedroom window some lifetime ago.
I throw the door open and my face falls. She's on the ground. Dead. I fall to my knees, praying this isn't real. "Veronica, please!" I shake her. She doesn't move. My hand flies to her pulse, very faintly, her heart is still beating. I glance around the room for clues about what the fuck happened. A spilled, half-empty bottle of some pill is beside her. Just like Heather M.
Suicide.
Veronica Dean.
Fucking suicide.
A sob escapes my lips. My cheeks are wet and I have no way of stopping it. I rush to her makeshift desk and dial 911 like my life depends on it. I fill him in on the details, doing all he says to help my wife. Her chest is barely moving. She's slipping away. I'm told to stay on the phone until the ambulance arrives.
I never cry.
But a tear rolls down my cheek. I wipe it away. I will not lose the only good thing to ever be in my life.
It's a blur of confusion when the ambulance does arrive. Veronica's put on a stretcher, whisked away. I'm a step behind her and I slide into the ambulance right next to her. She isn't awake, however. An oxygen mask is placed over her mouth and I don't pay any attention to the rest going on.
I just stroke her hair, murmuring sweet nothings she can't hear. She looks beautiful anyways, brown curls fanned out around her hair like a halo. A sob rips through me and I clutch her hand.
"Why?" I whisper, barely audible. "I thought you were happy… I loved you."
Is this how my dad felt? Helpless? Guilty? Something had to have provoked her. That something must've been me. I brought her to this.
I gently press my lips to her forehead as more tears fall. It's like an inescapable waterfall. I've never cried once in ten years, but today… I just can't stop.
Veronica's in a coma for days. I'm the one who has to call her parents and tell them. I'm the one who watches over her every single second, warding off death with my own bare hands. I'm the one who's heart is bleeding.
No one knows if she's going to make it. Something in the back of my mind says she won't. This is what I get. Did I seriously think I could get away with all that? No. This is penance.
Her parents visit her too. I don't meet their eyes. Her mother argues with me quite frequently. I suppose I deserve it. But once I did lash out. It got quite heated. I played the husband card and got them to leave for a few hours. I just needed a moment.
As I sit at her side, her fragile hand pressed to my lips as silent tears roll down my face, a voice breaks my quiet.
"Mr. Dean?" a doctor says quietly. I look up, quickly brushing away any tears.
"Yes?" I choke. My voice sounds strangled, forced.
"I believe a bit of a discussion is in order."
My breath catches in my throat. "A discussion?" This could only mean bad news. More bad news. More goddamn bad news.
"Yes. You see, something came up in the blood test." The doctor sits in a chair across from me. I shift a little in my chair, slightly uncomfortable.
"Really?" I manage to whisper. I press my hand to my mouth to stop myself from crying even more. I couldn't do that. I couldn't be so vulnerable.
"It appears that… well, your wife was pregnant."
I stare at her in disbelief. "That isn't possible."
"I'm fairly sure it is." The doctor sighs.
"No, this can't- she said that- how!? And what do you mean by was?! You're to tell me this just to say was?!"
"Well, it seems the overdose trigged a miscarriage and-"
"Shit," I mumble. I bite my lip "This can't be happening. How far along was she?"
"We don't know. Our best guess was about ten weeks."
"Excuse me a moment," I mutter as I stand up and walk out. I need a break. I've been walled up in that hospital room for too long.
So I flee. I drive. I escape. I burn through about six cigarettes, cursing obscenities to the wind. This is all my fault. She must've done this because she knew about the baby. Why else would she? But what I want to know is how? She said she was on birth control! Was she lying?! She would never lie about that. Did she forget one day? No, she isn't that clueless.
I toss another cigarette butt out the window. Fuck the environment, it doesn't matter at all. Not to me. Nothing matters. Veronica couldn't stay. She couldn't just tell me. We could've faced it together. But no.
No one can love me, not a soul. No one trusts me at all. I don't know what I thought she saw in me. But I still love her. I adore her. And I am not going to fucking lose her!
