Nyla blinked, because that wasn’t a husband’s first sentence.
That was a stranger’s sentence.
“I… I need to go to the hospital,” she whispered.
Terrence rolled his eyes, grabbed his car keys, and said, “Come on then.”
At the hospital, the waiting room smelled like disinfectant and fear.
A nurse called Nyla’s name. Terrence stayed on his phone.
When the doctor finally came out, he didn’t drag it out. He didn’t soften it.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “You’ve had a miscarriage.”
Nyla’s ears rang. She couldn’t breathe right. Her hands shook so hard the chair trembled.
Terrence stood slowly and just stared at the doctor.
Then he asked one question.
“So, when can we try again?”
The doctor looked uncomfortable. Nyla looked destroyed.
On the drive home, Nyla cried quietly. Terrence drove with one hand and turned the radio up with the other.
“Stop that,” he said. “Crying won’t fix it.”
When they reached home, Terrence didn’t hold her. He didn’t pray with her. He didn’t even ask if she wanted water.
Instead, he made one call.
“Mama,” he said into the phone. “Yeah, it happened.”
Nyla sat on the edge of the couch, listening like someone listening to her own funeral.
Then Terrence put the phone on speaker.
Ivonne’s voice blasted through the room, sharp like a slap.
