***_not a poem._**

Every night, I stumble into our home, lost in my own head.

I eat Chinese food leftovers, _his_, silently at the dimly lit island table. Sometimes I sit, wrapped in a blanket on the couch, instead. But I do the same thing as I eat.

I mourn.

I mourn, and I cry, mascara staining my frail face.

No matter how much I try to shove my thoughts to back of my mind, whether through _Gilmore Girls _or _YouTube Shorts, _I still cry. There’s no hiding my feelings.

No matter what I do, the moment my baby’s heart stopped beating replays _over and over again_ through my head. But despite this, I drag myself up the stairs to our cold and empty bed. I keep drowning my thoughts with Netflix, until I hear his keys jingle in the lock.

Until I hear the fridge door open, close again, then his feet drag up the stairs, too, in the same way mine did.

By the time he gets himself up here, too, I’m dozing off; Lord knows if I snore.

I’m sure _he _does, too.

It’s been a year since our wedding— two young, hopeless romantics not wanting to wait to grow. We were only twenty- one, not knowing any better.

It’s been three months since our baby Jaice was born. My husband was twenty-two then. Jaice was a little ray of sunshine, always giggling, despite his rare heart condition.

We were told that aborting was a better option, but we believed God wanted us to give him a life.

It’s been a month since Jaice died in the NICU; Still a baby.

But it’s been three weeks since the realization hit. We both got more short- tempered, and he hasn’t uttered a full sentence to me since.

We haven’t been to church since, and people talk in this small town of ours. We haven’t been anywhere together since, either, and he switched to the night shift at his work.

That’s why I never see him, and he’s never there when I cry. He gets up early, and comes home late. Why I haven’t even stepped foot in the untouched nursery, too scared to do it without him. Why we haven’t eaten properly in days.

The door croaks open, light from the kitchen seeping in.

He sighs, enters, and slowly closes the door behind him. I hear him enter the closet, then come back out in plaid pajamas.

Normally, I’d pretend to sleep, but tonight, I turn over to face him.

He gazes into my eyes, timidly, and swiftly runs his hand through his perfect, _Dean Forester_ hair.

“So…” I start. He sits at the edge of the bed, looking down shyly as I study his face.

I notice how his eyes make him look like a raccoon, with dark circles around ‘em. How his cheek bones are more prominent, and how his deep, sapphire eyes look _so tired. _

Realization of the mess this had made us dawning, tears stream uncontrollably down my face; and I crawl to the end of the bed with him.

I don’t care about the past.

He’s here now, right here, and I need him.

He holds me as I bawl my eyes out, feeling smaller than ever before— and that says a lot since I’m considerably tall.

Though, that one foot and two inches really made a difference in height as I lay close to his chest, the rhythm of his heart soothing and strong.

He kisses my forehead, strokes my coily hair, and begins to break his silence as I breathe in his smell of _Axe body spray _and autumn.

“ I love you. I don’t know why or where I’ve been. I shouldn’t have just closed off like that..! I mean, it was selfish of me to just… leave you like this. Every morning, too.”

It feels _so good _to hear that from him. And as he lay me down, stroking clean my face of tears, I think of everything bad, everything unfortunate that happened in my life. Our senior cat went missing. How it took _him_, my husband, _eight years _to realize I loved him. How _our_ Jaice only got to live a short and limited two months, those hard days where we had to see him hooked up to all those tubes and machines.

But through those days, he stayed content, and a little bundle of joy. He _was _my life. My home.

Those were my best days.

I remember thinking that one day, we’d be out of there— and that it would all just get better. But I watched my husband’s face when we heard Jaice’s chance of survival. I thought there was still hope.

But here we are.

I guess you don’t always get what you want.

He lies down next to me, breathing shakily, eyes fixed on the woods through the window.

“Hey..,” I say reassuringly. I wrap an arm around him, finding its way through his hair. He finally looks back at me.

“Hey.” He replies and smiles sincerely. I do so back, pressing my lips against his, and as I pull back—foreheads still touching— I whisper:

“We‘ll get through this. It’ll end.”

“ I love you… so much.”

“ love you, too. _To the moon and to Saturn. _Night.”

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Thanks to those of you who read all the way to the end, lol. This was more like a full chapter! Should I make a pt.2??

-based off a true story <3