Maybe It's Better This Way

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This chapter is for Ally who reviews SO regularly but doesn't leave her email so I can't write a gushing thank you! I think I know who you are but it would be tres embarrassing if I got it wrong and left a long message to someone else lol!

Sorry it's late on Wed, I kept procrastinating. But the chapters do seem to be lengthening and 8/9/10 pages is becoming the norm. Lucky for you!

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Chapter: 18 How Long

Sandy's cell rang, the screen reading 'Cay-Cay'. He pushed back the thoughts of the last time his father-in-law had called him and answered.

'What the hell is my daughter doing in her office?'

'What?' the words took a moment to register. Kirsten was at home. Perhaps Caleb had finally gone off his rocker.

'Kirsten. In her office. Right now.' Sandy knew exactly where his wife's occasional abruptness came from.

'She's there?'

'Yes Sanford. Have you been smoking something? You're really not on the ball.'

'I'm confused. Kirsten's at work? As in at the Newport Group?'

'Yes. Why, I don't know, hence the reason I'm calling you.'

'Oh. Well…'

'She shouldn't be here.'

'Do you think I don't know that?'

'I thought you were looking after her.'

'I can't tie to her the house Caleb. Look, she's only doing this to annoy me…I upset her over the weekend. Do not comment.'

'Not a word.'

'I'll be right there. Could you…break the ice?'

'You're not the only one she's mad with you know.'

'I know, but I'm hoping I'm the lesser of two evils.'

Caleb snorted and hung up. He knocked on his daughter's open door and was ignored.

'Kirsten?' he ventured. 'Kirsten?'

'Hmm,' she answered without looking up.

'Uh, I didn't expect to see you today.'

'Mmm well, I was going crazy at home.'

'Kirsten…'

'I'm busy right now, can this wait?'

'No. Kirsten, please, just look at me.'

'Trying to catch up…lots of files,' she muttered, shuffling papers on her desk. She was happy to find that she seemed to have copies of all the documents dating back to…a certain date, even if someone else had actually been doing her job.

'I thought we were…talking again.'

'No.'

'But the phone call…' he mumbled, feeling childish.

Kirsten glanced up guiltily at that and then hurriedly looked down again. 'I felt bad,' she admitted. 'It doesn't mean I'm ready to forgive you yet. It doesn't mean we can have the relationship we did.'

'Okay so…what does that mean?'

'Let's just talk business.'

'But…'

'Business, Mr Nichol, or nothing.'

He swallowed, hard. Being called Mr Nichol by his daughter was awkward. It reminded him of the way he'd treated her when she first started working at The Newport Group. Both stubbornly proud, Kirsten had tried so hard to prove herself, desperate to not just be 'the boss' daughter' and he had gone to the extreme in demanding professionalism so he wouldn't appear to be favouring her. Only Sandy knew how many times she had come home in tears because Caleb had ignored her suggestions in a meeting or given her a public rebuke for slipping and calling him dad. It had taken him several years to loosen up, to appreciate Kirsten's work, not that he ever told her, and to treat her like a daughter and valued advisor, not just an expendable employee.

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Sandy appeared a couple of minutes later and was not impressed to find Kirsten and her father talking, if somewhat awkwardly, about work.

'Give you an inch and you'll always take a mile,' Sandy observed of his father-in-law who seemed perfectly content to interact with his daughter any way he could. 'You were supposed to be registering your concern, not encouraging this ridiculous state of affairs.'

'Don't talk about me like I'm not here,' his wife cut in. 'The only ridiculous thing at the moment is the fact that two grown men can't accept the fact I'm not sat at home wrapped in cotton wool.'

'Your father doesn't seem so worried.'

'I am, I just…I'm gonna go,' Caleb stuttered. 'Looks like you've got this covered Sanford. Take care Kirsten, and…maybe he's right you know.'

'Kirsten, what the hell are you doing here?' her husband questioned, approaching her round the side of the desk. She resolutely refused to swivel her chair to face him.

'Don't Sandy, I need this.'

'You need to look after yourself.'

'I do have work to do Sandy. Can't we argue at home, tonight?'

'I don't want to argue but yes we'll do it at home. Right now.'

'Sandy! No!' she said harshly, jerking away from the hand on her arm.

'I know why you're doing this?'

'Why's that?'

'You're punishing me…for what happened on Saturday.'

'What? Sandy. Not everything is about you or our sex life.'

'I-I just…'

'You just what? Stop assuming things. This is what I have to do Sandy, to get back on track, to feel in control.'

'Last week you ran into my office insisting it had all been a mistake.'

'I was…upset, the drugs were confusing me.'

'You really believed it or wanted to. Hell, I wanted to. But do you know how frightening that was? To have you hallucinating like that, or whatever it was.'

'I'm sorry.'

'That's irrelevant. You don't need to apologise, just please try and understand how I'm feeling.'

She swallowed, knowing too well what he felt. His face that day was indescribable. His eyes were damp when she finally stopped clinging onto his shirt and looked up at him, the lies in his words etched across his face; he was no longer sure they would be alright. That night he was the one awake, padding around outside, circumnavigating the pool endlessly. The next time she woke he was sat hunched over the patio table, shoulders heaving, that scan picture in front of him, crumpled, tearstained. She had wanted to go out there but she couldn't make any promises either.

'Sandy, I appreciate your concern but…'

'You're not yourself yet Kirsten, give it some more time.'

'And I can't be myself if I'm trapped at home with only the thoughts in my head for company.'

'But…'

'I'm sorry, I really am honey but I have to. I'm gonna work with or without your blessing.'

And that had been that.

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Kirsten insisted on working. Sandy hated it but she refused to let that stop her and he didn't know what else to do. She wouldn't listen to reason. He couldn't keep her safe like he wanted. He'd caved, at least for now.

It had been a mistake. That much soon became obvious. She was putting on the act, appearing as 'Kirsten Cohen' for the boys, for work, even for the damn Newpsies but she still wasn't Kirsten. Not the Kirsten Sandy knew and loved. It impressed him how well she fooled everyone else, sometimes even making him doubt himself, but he knew something wasn't right. She looked exhausted, face pale beneath the makeup, mascara accentuating the wide, dark pupils of her tired eyes, lips, their colour false, constantly pulled into the fakest of fake Newpsie smiles. Alone, when she didn't know he was watching, she'd let her happy mask slip, he'd hear her sobs amidst the noise of the shower and at night she'd lie like a rag doll in his arms, barely returning his goodnight kisses.

By the third day she was flagging and she knew it but she couldn't give in. However hard it was to drag herself out of bed, however much she wanted to close her eyes and hide from the world when the alarm went off; Sandy having refused to wake her, she wasn't about to give her husband the satisfaction of being right. Kirsten knew it was stupid and childish but she wanted things to go back to normal so damn much she couldn't help but push it. It didn't get any easier though. She was struggling to get back on track in the office and the harder she tried the more her health and everything at home seemed to suffer. Her sons were quiet around her, timid, as though she might break. Her husband, open in his refusal to accept the stand she was taking, was still quietly supportive in everything else; gentle kisses and a cup off coffee when she wobbled into the kitchen on the high heels she seemed to have forgotten how to walk in, warm arms at enveloping her at night, soothing words in her ear; the only thing that could get her to sleep, the only sound that could calm her after the nightmares. The fact that she knew she was hurting him, and yet he was still there, was tearing her apart.

She felt as bad as she looked before MaxFactor and Maybeline worked their magic, not that she would ever admit it. Sandy didn't need to tell her she looked tired, she could feel it all over her body, from the backs of her eyes to the depths of her bones and it made her feel dizzy on a morning and shaky at night. Plus there was something else, a nagging somewhere in her head, a niggling feeling that there was something she had forgotten, something she didn't know, couldn't figure out. Perhaps she was going crazy. Thank god it was almost the weekend. Yesterday she had almost cracked. The figures on the document in front of her were indistinct with her tiredness anyway and when she found them blurry with tears she had been on the point of going home. And she would have done, if the room hadn't been spinning so much that she wasn't sure she could make it to the door.

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It was mid-afternoon on Friday. He'd been working like a dog all day long hoping that he could leave early, swing by the Newport Group and force Kirsten to quit acting like she was okay and come home with him. They could order in Thai and force the kids to watch a movie or something, anything, to create a semblance of normal family life. And yet now he'd reached a point where he didn't feel guilty about ditching his desk for the weekend, he couldn't pluck up the courage to actually set the plan in motion. Things were more than a little frosty between him and Kirsten, who kept staying late at the office, no doubt to avoid their sorry excuse for a marriage and forcing the boys to sit in that unsettled atmosphere for the evening was an idea that didn't appeal. He was debating whether to just face Kirsten or maybe go to the beach until it was time to collect the boys from school and leave her to herself, when his cell phone rang from the depths of his pocket. He fumbled for it hoping whoever it was wouldn't hang up. This time the display read 'Kirsten - Office'. He'd known this was a bad idea. It was only a matter of time before her grief caught up with her.

'Honey?'

'Sandy?' Her voice was very small, unnaturally high-pitched and he knew immediately that she was on the verge of tears.

'Kirsten darling, what's wrong?'

No answer, just shaky breathing on the other end of the line.

'I just let her go,' she choked out. 'She was my child and I let them take her. I didn't ask any questions, want to see her…anything.'

She was going to think of all this sometime, Sandy had know that, ask questions, want answers, but why now? Things had been going well, sort of.
'How about I come pick you up and we go someplace to talk?' he offered, stalling so he'd have time to work out how to tell her everything.

'I abandoned her in that hospital Sandy. God knows what happened to her.'

'Calm down ok? I'll be right there.'

'No. We both have work to do and…'

'And you're really getting a lot done in that state.'

'I-I, I know it's stupid but…I worry, that…that she'd be c-cold. We didn't even have a blanket…'

Sandy didn't reply at first, he let the phone slide down his cheek, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. It was a common fear; the baby being cold even though it was dead.

'We can't talk about this over the phone.'

'I need to know Sandy, please. What happened?'

He couldn't decide which was worse. Telling her now and not being there to comfort her, or making her wait and being able to see the hurt flash across her eyes.

'Kirsten sweetie,' he stopped, struggling to find words, 'it wouldn't be…like that, the baby, she wouldn't, didn't…feel cold.'

'B-but.'

'She wasn't born as such. She wasn't a 'baby.'

He could almost hear the tears creeping down his wife's cheeks as he explained what had happened.

It wasn't what she wanted to hear.

She didn't want to know that the baby had begun to miscarry even before the preeclampsia had been diagnosed, that she had saved Kirsten's life.

Her child had died for her. If it had to happen at all, it was meant to be the other way around.

Sandy was beginning to become unnerved by her silence. No response, no protest, no sobs.

'I'm coming over…'

Eventually a whisper, 'No…'

'Don't worry; I'll stay on the line.'

'No,' she repeated, stronger this time, 'you're not to drive while on the phone. I'm fine, honest.

'I'll see you in ten.' Sandy told her, hanging up.

At that point Kirsten put her head down on top of the pile of blueprints in front of her and cried again, salty tears smudging the ink.

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'You really didn't need to come.'
Her husband sat on her desk and looked her straight in the eye. 'I did. Now, are we gonna talk more about this? You're upset, I'm upset. We're going through the same thing. Okay I know it's not the same for me but I understand.'

'Don't pretend you know how I'm feeling because you don't,' she spat.

'I'm trying to Kirsten,' he shot back, forcing himself to stay calm this time. It was just the grief talking. 'I can imagine that if feels the way I feel but worse. We were having this baby together, we lost her together.'

'I lost her.'

'Honey, it wasn't you fault. You know that. I'm just saying we need to face this together or we'll fall apart. And the first step is talking.'

Kirsten shook her head, 'No, I can't. Not right now I really need to…process the information, just, think.'

'Ooh you know no good comes of thinking.'

She didn't smile, dropping her head to try and hide her tears.

'Ok, let's go,' he declared, jumping up.

'Go where? Sandy.'

'Home. You, are going to bed.'

'I can't. Look, I've got mascara all over these plans.'

'Doesn't matter.'

'But I have things to do.'

'Nothing that can't wait,' he insisted, holding out her jacket. Still protesting, she reluctantly slid her arms into it.
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Back home, they sat side by side on the bed for a while, Kirsten leaning wearily against her husband, his hand rubbing gentle circles on her back. He felt her stifle a yawn and leant down to tug off her shoes before manoeuvring her so she was lying lengthways on the bed. She caught his tie as he bent over, 'Are you gonna stay?' she mumbled. Sandy nodded and she let the material slide though her fingers, listening as he closed the blinds, kicked off his shoes and shed his jacket and tie. A minute later the bed shifted as he crawled towards her, one arm fitting snugly round her waist.

She needed this, needed him.

And maybe, just maybe, she'd be alright.

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When Kirsten woke up later Sandy was no longer beside her making her feel a little bit mutinous until she heard the sounds of clattering in the kitchen along with whispers and muffled laughter. Her boys. A glance at the clock told her that it was already evening and they were probably preparing dinner. Once again she didn't feel like eating but knew she'd have to try, if only to make them happy.

Happy.

What a stupid word.

Kirsten knew she had infinite reasons to be happy; the three main ones were in the kitchen right now, and part of her felt guilty for not being so. She loved them, no one could deny that, but surely loving her daughter as well, didn't make her love them any less? It just made her hurt more. She'd cried a summer's worth of tears over Seth and Ryan, she wondered how long the current tears would last. She had clutched the sheets off Ryan's bed following his departure, stood breathing in the scent of the clothes hung in Seth's closet after his disappearance and the memories made her remember something else.

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They were the only things she'd bought. She'd been sensible; she knew the chances of miscarriage, knew how her age and inability to take breaks from work made it even more risky as much as tried to ignore them. But at thirteen weeks, the end of the first-semester, she'd given in and marked the little milestone with a tiny pair of socks.

Kirsten loved baby clothes and shoes, but socks were definitely her favourite. It was silly but she adored the miniature garments; the thought of 'teensy weensy ickle feets and toeses'!

She opened her bedside drawer and took out the pair, smiling sadly as she thought of the tiny feet that should have worn them. She slipped one onto each thumb and sat rubbing her fingers against the soft material.

'Fool,' she thought to herself, 'look at you; sat stroking baby socks like some demented old woman. They're never going to be worn, you should throw them away.' The thought made the ever threatening tears run down her face and she hurriedly brushed them away, dampening the little sock as she did so. They were her only link to her little girl.

Kirsten kept the socks.

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You don't need me to say it do you?

But, if you don't I will say it TWICE next time.

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