“Ethan,” he said. “I’m so sorry.
There were complications. The baby didn’t… the baby didn’t make it.”
I didn’t understand.
I wanted to know more, but nobody gave me an explanation. Just silence.
When I stepped into the room, Lauren was staring out the window. Her face was gray, but she looked oddly peaceful, her hands motionless beneath the blanket.
“Lauren,” I said gently.
“Please, my love. Talk to me. Tell me what happened.”
She didn’t move.
“You weren’t here,” she whispered.
“You’re always at work, Ethan. You’re always running toward someone else’s disaster.”
“That’s not fair,” I said. “You didn’t even call —”
“She’s gone,” Lauren said, cutting me off.
“Our child is gone because you weren’t here.”
Two days later, Lauren disappeared while I was at work. There was no goodbye, no forwarding address. I came home to find her things missing from our apartment, and her number was disconnected.
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