Author's Note:
STRONG trigger warning for miscarriage for this chapter. It's moderately graphic, so if you are sensitive please skip at least the flashback, if not the whole chapter.
Roy knew from the moment he woke up to hours-old birdsong what day it was. His wife's rigid, unspeaking form beside him in the bed told him so. Wasn't that just awful of him? What did it say about Roy as a person that he didn't count down the same way Riza did, that this anniversary crept up on him each year as a horrible surprise? What would-be father didn't always sense, somewhere in the back of his mind, the memory of the day his unborn child died?
Though he knew full well that Riza wasn't asleep, Roy was quiet, trying to keep tired bedsprings silent as he rose. His wife was lying atop their covers, goosebumps risen on her pale arms. Yet she made no move to blanket herself—no move at all, actually. She was cold and still, like she was ready to join their daughter in the ground. Tiptoeing around to pull on some clothes, Roy did not turn to look at his wife as he exited the bedroom. From previous years' experience, he knew Riza would most likely have her eyes closed. But some years, he had looked back to find her brown eyes glassy, glazed over like a horrible doll. Unseeing. Roy shivered at the mere thought; he'd never see that gaze again. It was selfish, but that was the one part of all this he couldn't handle.
Perversely, Roy was glad the anniversary fell on a Sunday this year. August 26th came so close after the beginning of the school year, and while he and Riza could get a day off easily enough, it was poor timing. Another callous thought.
To him, the whole thing felt so distant most of the time. After all, it had been seven years. Roy had been nothing more than a bright-eyed fresh graduate, ready to start his teaching career. Riza had been merely 18, and just out of high school rather than college. She'd fallen pregnant after one of his weekend visits and a mistake…and then suddenly she wasn't.
Well, no. That wasn't quite true. While the situation, the stillbirth as a whole, felt so far away, when Roy thought about it…the memory of the day was there, buried but crisp and clear as an image in a mirror.
It was a normal check-up. That was all…at least, that's what Roy had tried to tell himself. The fact of the matter was that it was anything but. They were seated in the waiting room at the OBGYN, with Roy sitting stiff and still. Riza, on the other hand, was a bundle of nervous energy and movement—perhaps to make up for the lack of kicks and turns from within her pregnant stomach.
She'd alerted Roy the previous day, her tone trying to be casual but undercut by tension. The baby hadn't been shifting as much, and now it felt like maybe not at all. He knew his wife—the words still felt so strange!—was looking for his strength, his reassurance…but Roy couldn't offer it. In truth, he was unprepared to be a father and knew nothing about babies and pregnancy. Not that he hadn't tried to learn, at least a little…but this was something beyond the scope of his profession.
So, to the doctor it was. By now, Riza hadn't felt the baby moving for almost a full 24 hours. Roy knew enough to realize that was a very bad sign.
It didn't take long, really, for the couple to be called back into the office. Riza held his hand like a vice the whole way back. And the whole time, after she'd put on a gown, while the nurse smiled and listened to her concerns, while the doctor arrived and tried to find a heartbeat.
In fact, Riza held on tight to Roy up until the very moment the now-somber physician declared that there was no heartbeat to be found. Their baby was dead.
To Roy, it had seemed like the world was incased in fog since he'd come back from college to find his then-girlfriend pregnant. Their speedy wedding, the rental of their apartment, moving in…it all had passed by in somewhat of a haze. Life for the past few months had felt more and more like a dream every day, one that Roy could not wake up from even if he wanted to. In that instant, everything once again became crystal clear with the most painful wakeup call.
He was brought back, crashing into reality just in time for his wife to relinquish her hold on his hand and to let out the most horrible cry of anguish. As an OBGYN, the doctor had doubtless had to deliver this news before, and yet even he winced as frantic, hysterical tears ran down Riza's cheeks. Oh, she cried…and begged. For them to check again, for Roy to do something, anything…but what could he possibly do? There was nothing on earth that could bring back the dead.
Why wasn't he crying, too?
It took a very long time for Riza to calm down enough to be coherent again. Roy had tried to comfort her, but when he attempted to rub her hair, his wife had slapped at him. He didn't blame her, really; the feeble show of support could never have been enough.
Eventually, after many tissues and a glass of water, the room was mostly quiet. Riza was still sniffling, the sound so heart-wrenching Roy almost wanted to ask her to stop—but that would be ridiculous, and insensitive to boot. As gently as possible, the physician explained that because of the timing, Riza would have to give birth; the baby was simply too big for her body to "expel it naturally."
Those words enraged his wife, which then brought on another round of tears. As for Roy, he was trying to keep his churning stomach under control. The idea that Riza would have to go through labor, only to be rewarded with a corpse…it made him want to vomit. Of course, there was no alternative. You couldn't simply wish dead babies away. Poor, poor Riza.
Once she was again able to listen, the doctor instructed them to head to the hospital. He would call ahead, so that they could head into labor right away. Oh—Roy hadn't realized it would happen so quickly. Then again, the idea of Riza having to walk around for even a day with a cadaver in her womb was an even less appealing thought.
This time, the process went in reverse, with the doctor exiting and Riza dressing, and then making the suddenly long walk to the car. Everyone else in the waiting room stared; it was written plain as day on their faces what had happened in the exam room. Hushed titters started up as the couple exited, but not before they were out of earshot. Amazing, how inconsiderate people could be.
Riza did not speak on the ride to the hospital. She cried some more, but quietly this time. Out of the corner of his eye (Roy kept his gaze dedicated firmly to the road in front of them), he could see her hand moving in little circles atop her bump. Whatever else he was or wasn't feeling, Roy did have immense sympathy for his wife.
The hospital was another blur of activity, with a surprising number of nurses and doctors flitting in and out of Riza's room. She was given a drug to induce labor, that much Roy understood. But other than that, it was simply hours of waiting that could have been either days or minutes. First Riza sobbed, then screamed, then both as her contractions came closer and closer together. And through it all Roy stood, feeling terribly sad for his wife but utterly unable to do a thing to help.
The labor itself was a gross, bloody affair. Normally, Roy figured this would be offset by the miracle of life…but in this delivery room there was no air of triumph, of creation. Aside from Riza's groans, it was almost silently efficient, as though the nurses just wanted to get it over with. Unable to make himself watch—a guilt he was sure he would carry to his own grave—Roy didn't even realize, at first, that the ordeal was over. The baby, their baby, was out, with no cry to signal its arrival. So quietly that he could barely hear it over his wife's panting, one nurse declared, "It's a girl."
So. He would have had a daughter. Would she have been the classic daddy's girl? Or would she have preferred her mother?
For the first time, Roy felt his eyes mist over.
In the wake of the birth, doctors murmured out the cause of death: a detached placenta. What caused that? No one could say. Riza accepted this news mutely, having apparently finally run out of tears. She was offered their baby and she latched on, holding the cold little body to her breast as though that would somehow bring her back. Roy looked over his wife's shoulder, amazed at just how small the baby was. Like the tiniest of dolls.
He willed himself, staring at those eternally closed eyes, to feel something. Some connection. But he just…couldn't. Without sound or movement, Roy couldn't force himself to connect with the fact that this was his spawn. It wasn't like he was happy; hollowness found a way to fill him, and he would do anything to be able to assuage Riza's agony…but this tragedy felt, still, so impersonal to him.
Roy declined to hold her. He felt Riza's sharp eyes on him as he shook his head, but he simply couldn't imagine trying to cradle their baby, barely longer than his hand. The insane fear pervaded that he would drop her, and somehow in death that was an even worse offense than it would have been had she lived.
They didn't leave the hospital until the next day.
Well, maybe that last bit of his recollection wasn't true, Roy mused as he moved around the kitchen, preparing tea rather than coffee. Sometimes, he felt very strongly that his wife had never left the hospital, not really.
If he looked at it clinically, that day was the beginning of the end of their relationship, though it had really only scarcely begun at that point. Riza had rarely said it outright, but he knew she'd never forgiven him for his behavior—or rather, lack thereof—on that day. To be fair, neither had Roy. In his defense, though, he had been little more than a kid himself. When he graduated university, Roy hadn't been looking for a wife or a child, yet he tried to rise to the occasion as best he could. It just wasn't enough.
Over the years since that day, Roy had continued to do his level best for Riza. He knew she deserved more than he could offer; he knew he was never sufficient for her and her needs. And while he did his best to avoid it, resentment more and more often crept up about that.
Two unhappy people in one unhappy relationship.
Sometimes Roy thought it would be kinder to just leave. But then, if that's what Riza had wanted, wouldn't she have filed for divorce herself? So, he stayed. The least Roy could do was at least let their marriage continue or fizzle on his wife's terms. She was clearly the more injured party.
With the tea ready—no sugar, nothing to ease the bitterness today—Roy turned to face the bedroom, but paused before reentering to rouse his spouse. Just for a second, long enough to gather his strength. It would take some time to coerce her out of bed, longer to convince his wife to shower, or at least to wash her face of the tears she would have shed the previous night while he was asleep. And then it would be off to the cemetery.
Roy would not mention the idea of trying again. He'd made that mistake only once, on the first anniversary of the stillbirth. On that day he'd been willing to try anything to make Riza feel better, even if by that point he knew he didn't want children. But she'd refused vehemently, almost violently, saying that she could never trust her body to produce life again.
No, all he would do this year would be steadfast, as he always attempted to be. Even if she didn't love him anymore, it would be good for Riza to have someone to hold on to. Roy could offer that much.