Rafe
"Lia," We stand on the balcony of out private rooms. I wrap my arms around my wife as she gazes into the sunset, eyes unseeing. Her arms crossed tightly and her body stiff. It starts to relax as I pull her close, "Talk to me."
I watch as her gaze focuses, and her body finally melts into mine. She heaves a sigh, and she lets her head fall back onto my shoulder and I kiss her jaw lightly.
"I don't think I can stand it if we lose this one too," she says, voice thick with tears she's trying to hold in. Her hand grazes her belly where there is barely a swell. Nobody would know looking at her that she was a little over halfway through her pregnancy.
I place a hand on top of hers, "You won't." I say to reassure her just as much as I say it for myself. Today marked a year since she had miscarried our first baby.
She turned to face me, and I brushed away the tear falling down her cheek. "You don't know that."
She was right. I didn't know. But I had to believe that this time would be better. She had barely left our rooms since she discovered this pregnancy. The physician in the Sanctum had highly encouraged bedrest and limiting amounts of stress, but I think that being in here all day every day was starting to cause her to be more stressed.
I took her face in my hands and pressed my lips to her forehead and then to her lips that were salty with tears. I had nothing to say that could reassure her. I gather her up in my arms and held her tightly, "I'm so sorry that you are going through this, Lia."
She released a sob and clutched me closer. "I never even knew him, Rafe. But I miss him so much!" She had known. Her gift had allowed her to know that the babe had been a boy. Our son.
She had lost him early in the pregnancy. I would never be able to forget the sound of her waking me frantically to fetch the physician, the blood, the sobs that seemed to cut through my bones.
"I know," I whispered gently stroking her back and trying to fend off tears of my own, "I miss him too."
We held each other until the sun was gone and our tears had passed. She yawned and I led her back into the room. We laid down in the bed, still not speaking. Just holding each other. Remembering. Hoping.
"Rafe," she ran a hand down my arm, "wake up."
"What's wrong?" I asked sitting up abruptly and looking her over.
She was sat back against the headboard, no fear in her eyes. In fact, a bit of their sparkle was there as she pulled me by the arm so that I was sitting next to her. "She's moving," she said as she placed my hand on her belly.
I waited for what felt like forever, holding my breath. Until I felt it. A little flutter on the palm of my hand. Then the words my wife had said caught up to me. "She?"
She smiled at me and nodded as I felt our daughter move again. I kissed her softly. "Well then I guess we can start talking about names then." I said in a whisper on her lips as she pulled me back for another.
"I'm way ahead of you."