Italics are flashbacks
"We're given second chances every day of our life. We don't usually take them, but they're there for the taking." -Andrew M. Greeley
The memories come to me in small flashes each one a bit more specific than the last. I find myself resting against the arm of the couch, one hand holding me up while the other holds onto my pounding head. Santana is on the phone in the background, her voice a mixture of concern and panic as she looks at me warily.
"Would you punish me for something I didn't do?" His voice echoes through the room around us. "Persecute me based on your fucking insecurities." My body is still so numb that the words bounce right off of me as I burrow myself deeper into the bed. "Jesus fucking Christ, Rachel, say something, anything."
"That's enough, Puck." The voice is etched with concern and anger. "She's been through enough today." Finn shoves him out of the room, glancing back once to make sure I'm alright.
Santana pushes me back and forces me to sit down on the couch. She's clutching a bottle of water in her hand, her fingers denting the thin plastic. "Drink this," she shoves the bottle into my hand as she brushes a few strands of her hair off of her brow. "And breathe slower."
I've been in bed for over a week when I finally venture out of the room. Everything looks dull, lifeless and I'm not sure if it's from living in a dark space for so long or if that's just the way things are going to be now. I trudge into the living room surprised to find the apartment empty. It feels fitting.
Mindlessly I flick on the TV and rest my head against one of the many throw pillows. I'm so tired, so physically and emotionally exhausted that even watching the TV takes its toll on me. I'm out before the first commercial break.
I wake up to the sound of quiet voices in the kitchen. A blanket has been wrapped around me and the TV is off. "Do you believe him?" Santana whispers. I hear the clang of a pan being placed on the stove and the click of the small stove light being turned on.
"No," Finn replies softly, "it just doesn't fit." It's quiet for a moment and then I hear his small sigh. "If I thought it would help I would let him lie, though. She looks so not-Rachel like."
"I know," Santana whispers. I can hear her moving about in the room, the sounds of her cooking, and the silence that has seemed to grow between friends.
My head is pounding and I feel as if I am waking from some drug-induced slumber. I squint my eyes at Santana taking in the roundness of her stomach and I feel more nauseous than I can ever remember.
"You're pregnant?" I question. My fingers twitch and tremble uncontrollably. There is movement in the entryway and Finn lopes into the room, headed straight for me. He takes in my appearance and looks at Santana in confusion. Pulling me to him, he wraps his arms around me tightly, lifting me from the couch into his embrace.
"You alright, Rachel?" he questions.
"How you doing, Rach?" Finn plops onto the couch next to me, his arm wrapping around my shoulder and tugging me against him. He feels warm, comforting, and I find myself resting my head against him.
"I'm fine, Finn." I reply. Even I can hear the doubt in my voice, the conviction that I am not alright and that I never will be again. I can feel his eyes looking at me and for some reason I can't find it in myself to continue the charade. "I'm terrible," I whisper honestly, "broken."
He pulls me into his lap, his arms resting against my waist. The house is quiet, everyone else having left to go to work. I rest my forehead on his shoulder as the tears sting at my eyes. "It will get better," he whispers into my hair, "you will get better."
He places a gentle kiss against my forehead and I can see the love and adoration shining in his eyes. This time it feels like enough. "Help me," I whisper into the skin of his neck, "help me get better."
Finn pulls me back, his eyes taking in the lines of my face. He looks older, more tired than I have ever seen him before. And then he nods.
I wrap my arms around Finn's neck the tears tumbling down my face. He hushes me softly as small sobs escape. A hand tangles in my hair and soothes the back of my forehead before moving down to my back. Each brush makes my breaths slow just a little bit more.
"That's it," he whispers, "take slow deep breaths." I feel his chest expand as he breathes with me. After a few minutes I feel like my panic is under control. I pull back and look at the ridges on his forehead, his face lined in worry. My hand reaches up to soothe the lines out and he smiles at me softly.
"Better?" he questions.
"I think so," I reply softly my eyes taking in the scene around me. Santana is still sitting on the couch beside me, a few tears tumbling down her cheeks. I see her look at Finn in gratitude as she rests a small hand against the curve of her belly.
My fist hurts; I'm clenching it so tightly. I can feel the edges of the paper dig into my skin as I pace back and forth in the small room. There is a gentle knock and then Finn enters, his eyes taking in my appearance.
"Is this true?" I question, throwing the letter on the bed in front of me. Finn reaches down and picks it up, his eyes scanning over the words. I can't help but pace the room franticly, the sound of my padded footsteps and our breathing the only noises.
"I don't know," he replies softly. "Rach, you need to take a deep breath." I force some air into my lungs, relishing the burn. "It sounds like its true." He places the crinkled letter on the bed between us.
I can feel the tears stinging at my eyes and I bring my hand up to rest against my protruding belly. Finn comes up behind me, his fingers twining through mine. "You remember what the doctor said," he whispers. He taps his fingers along my stomach, "you need to stay calm for our little one."
"But if it's true," I question.
"Then it's true," Finn replies.
"Tina should be on her way over with Aden," Santana's voice seems to break me from my revere. I find myself looking at the smattering of pictures on the wall once again, my eyes scanning over the top image.
I get up and move closer, listening to the soft hum of my two friends whispering. I hear Finn ask Santana to stay, hear him ask if I would like them to take him for the evening. I find myself nodding, my eyes refusing to leave the image.
I'm standing with Noah, Aden wrapped between our arms. We all look so happy.
"This isn't working," Finn paces in front of the bed. It's a little after two in the morning and we've finally just gotten a very sick Aden to sleep. "Neither of us is happy anymore."
As much as I know it's true, it doesn't make this any easier. Instead of responding I find myself setting down on the bed we've shared for years. I can feel the tears fall down my face as I nod my head in understanding. "We were young," I whisper, "I was eager to forget."
"The thing is," Finn replies as he sets down next to me, his arm wrapping around my shoulder, "I don't think you can forget, Rachel. I think that maybe, just maybe, he's a part of you the way Quinn's a part of me."
We sit in silence for a few minutes, listening to the gentle sound of our son breathing through the baby monitor. He's just over one year old and too smart for his own good. I can't help but think about how all of this will affect him, how his life will change.
"Admit it, Rach." Finn murmurs as his fingers tighten on my arm, "you haven't been able to stop thinking about him since you received that letter. The distance between us lately hasn't helped," he continues, "I know that all my traveling has been hard on us."
"Mommy," my little boy cries as he runs through the living room and throws his arms around my legs. I reach down and pick him up my arms engulfing him as I pull him to me. He looks over at Santana and waves happily.
"How's my baby?" My lips brush against the crown of his head and I take in a deep breath, relishing the smell. I can feel the tears threatening to spill over my eyes but I clench them shut and take a deep breath before opening them again.
"I'm bass-ass." He squeals. I hear Tina and Santana's laughter and can't help but bite back a smile.
"Its bad-ass kid," Santana corrects him as she shoots a small wink at me. I know that I should reprimand her for teaching him, but instead I find myself shaking my head in amazement. Aden wiggles out of my arm and trollops over to Santana placing a big sloppy kiss on her stomach.
"Hi sitster," he whispers against the skin his fingers tapping out a tiny rhythm. He squeals as a small kick presses against his hand.
It's freezing outside, the snow coming down in big flakes that seem to engulf the concrete around me. I press my finger against the buzzer listening to the hum and waiting for some kind of response. Seconds later I hear the click and his voice floats over the speaker. "Who is it?"
He sounds tired, worn out, and yet it's so good to hear his voice that it's hard for me to speak. When he asks a second time, his voice full of irritation, I find my words. "It's me," I reply. I burry my hands into my coat pockets and clench my eyes tight. "Can I come up?"
I hear the click of the intercom and then the door buzzes open. Instead of waiting for the elevator, I take the stairs up the three flights, which gives me ample time to think. He's standing in the hallway, his door propped open behind him when I come into view.
He looks the same and yet different all at the same time. The years have added a few lines to his face and he now keeps his hair longer. There is also a maturity in his eyes that he was lacking all those years ago, the sign of someone who has lived a hard and long life.
He takes in my appearance, his eyes sad and tired looking, before he pulls me to him. His arms wrap around me and I find myself engulfed in his familiar scent. "Hi," I mumble against his shoulder as my fingers dig into the flesh of his back.
"Hi," he whispers into my hair.
"How long of a break do you guys have before you have to head back to New York?" Tina questions. Instead of answering her I shrug my shoulders and watch Aden crash one of his play cars into another one, his mouth forming the engine noises and crashing sounds.
"Not quite sure," I reply with a shrug of my shoulders. My eyes settle on a few of the playbills scattered between the pictures on the walls. An image of my life is suddenly starting to come into focus for me and it's literally taking my breath away.
"You got my letter?" he questions.
"I did," I reply. I take a sip of the small cup of coffee he's placed in front of me before I look up and meet his eyes. "Thank you," I continue, "I know I never gave you the chance to explain and I know that you deserved at least that and I really needed to hear it too."
"I just didn't want you to think," he pauses for a moment his hands tightening on his mug before he continues; "the whole time I was with you I was faithful. I loved you, both of you."
The air is heavy around us, the silence deafening. I can feel the tears burning at my eyes and see that he is fighting back his emotions as well. It's further proof that neither of us have truly gotten over our loss.
"Do you ever think about how different things could have been?" his words are quiet, his voice haunted.
"Every day," I answer truthfully.
I loved your responses to the last chapter. From those of you who were "non-doubters" to those of you who have expeienced a miscarriage themselves this story is for you, all of you; the readers.
We're nearing the end... I see one or possibly two chapters left.
N