My mouth went dry. I tugged at Ryan’s hand again. “I can’t do this. I have to go.”
“What? Why? We just got here.”
“Stay then. Tell Brighton I got sick or something.”
“Liv, what’s going on?” His gaze swiveled, following my line of sight. The mom was pressing a straw into an apple juice box and handing it to her daughter. “Do you know them?”
I shook my head, my eyes landing on the baby’s chubby leg hanging from the baby carrier. Little blue socks warmed his tiny toes.
“Did we put socks on Laelynn before we buried her? I can’t remember,” I said suddenly, my voice cracking. I held his hand tighter as panic gripped at me. I was going to vomit. I could already feel the bile rising.
Ryan led me to the back door, parting guests without apology until he got me outside. He gripped my shoulders, trying to get me to look at him, but I couldn’t.
“I think I forgot to put socks on her, Ryan.”
“Liv, it’s okay.”
“It’s not okay,” I said, my brows furrowed in horror as I looked at my shoes, concentrating on anything other than the party around me. “What if she doesn’t have any socks on? I can’t be a mother. I couldn’t even do that right.”
I sank to the hard stone steps, draping my arms over my knees and taking in deep, jagged breaths. A panic attack was imminent, and I wanted to leave before it came.
“She had socks on,” he finally said.
I glanced up at him. “Are you sure?”
He nodded. “They were the tiny white ones with the ruffled lace tops. They were supposed to be for her baptism, but Carly said they’d be perfect.”
“Perfect?” I asked, horrified. “There’s nothing perfect to bury a baby in. What does that even mean?”
“I just meant that my sister was trying her best to help.”
I hardly remembered her even being at the funeral. “I didn’t know there would be kids here tonight.” Maybe because it was a nighttime open house, I assumed it would be for adults only. Families usually came on Saturdays and Sundays. “I can’t stay. I thought I’d be okay, but I’m not.”
I stood, my legs shaking as I steadied myself against the large stone column. That’s when Brighton rounded the corner, heading our way with an attractive brunette on his arm. Her highlighted hair was curled in perfect beach waves and angled over her shoulder in an asymmetrical bob. Her eyes were a bright and vivid green, and they sparkled as they looked up at Brighton with obvious affection.
Just like that—time stopped. My breathing quickened, and the party around me faded. Brighton was the only thing in the center of my line of sight. His eyes were trained on mine, but I couldn’t get past the fact that he was here with another woman.
“Kerrington,” Ryan said, somewhere off to my side.
“I was just coming to find you. Everything okay?” he asked, scrunching his eyes to really look at me for the first time.
I felt clammy and nauseous. I could not stand here while he introduced me to someone who clearly had feelings for him. I knew it wasn’t right. I knew it was beyond hypocritical. But my heart would never be ready to see Brighton with another woman—and that was never clearer than it was right now.
“No,” I said, licking my lips. “I’m really sorry, but we can’t stay. I’m not feeling well.”
“We just wanted to say congrats. The house looks great,” Ryan said.
“It’s in large part because of their help,” he told the woman standing next to him. “This is Ryan Wells and his wife, Olivia. She’s the designer I was telling you about.”
The designer. Not the woman I’m in love with. But the designer.
“It’s so nice to finally meet you both,” she said, reaching out her hand. “I’m Paige Morgan.”
She was his realtor. I knew I’d recognized her face from somewhere. She was with a well-known boutique group that catered to the wealthiest clients in our area and the greater part of western New York.
Ryan shook her hand, then wrapped his arm around me. “Sorry, Kerrington. Paige. We really have to go.”
“I understand. We’ll catch up tomorrow?” he asked, his brows furrowed with concern.
I couldn’t answer. The parents I’d seen in the kitchen stepped out onto the porch, and their daughter accidentally brushed my leg on her way down the stairs as she ran into the backyard to explore. I watched as Brighton took in the same scene, his eyes falling on the baby boy in the dad’s carrier. My heart constricted because I knew what he saw when he looked at that baby.
The blue socks. Sam. The son he would never have.
Brighton’s Adam’s apple rose and fell, and his jaw clenched almost imperceptibly. But I knew him now. I knew what drove him, and what hurt him.
Ryan didn’t wait for me to answer. He linked his fingers through mine and led me home. The loud din of conversation was at our back as we finally shut the door behind us. That’s when my tears fell. I kicked off my favorite black loafers and padded to the guest room. I had no energy to make it up the stairs.
White. They were white, Ryan said. I remembered those delicate, lacy socks I’d picked out for her with so much excitement and hope.
I sank onto the thick carpet next to the memory chest that Brighton made for me by hand. It was partly what caused mine and Ryan’s fight all those weeks ago. I tucked my legs under me as I opened the lid, grateful that the hinges kept the box open so I could look through its contents. I’d put everything I had from all our pregnancies inside. I needed to make sure Laelynn’s socks weren’t in there.
Hot tears slid down my cheeks as I held each item. I lifted the soft, pink blanket and pressed it to my cheek.
Ryan sat next to me, pulling my hair off my shoulder so he could see me better. He ran a thumb over my cheek, wiping away the moisture as I lifted a small yellow bow to show him. There were hospital forms and condolence cards at the bottom, along with a box of the most important items. A small clip of hair. Her fetal death certificate.
“It’s not fair,” I finally said, looking up at him through my tears. Stitch barked from his crate in the other room, hearing that we were home. But all I could see were Ryan’s sad, brown eyes as they held mine, the weight of his palm on my back.
“Why would god do this? Why would he take her from us and give them two perfect babies?”
“Liv, you can’t think of it that way.”
“It’s the only way I know how, Ryan. We didn’t deserve this. We’re good people. We would’ve been great parents.”
“We still can be someday.”
“I don’t trust my body anymore,” I whispered.
I looked down at my breasts. They held milk in them less than a year ago. Almost an entire year had passed since we buried Laelynn. I’d never forget having to expel the useless milk from my breasts in the shower to prevent my glands from getting swollen. It eventually dried out, and I was partially relieved and partially devastated. Unsure if they’d ever hold sustenance again.
The odds were too great that my body could never hold a life to term inside of it, but I didn’t say that to Ryan tonight. Instead, I fell onto his lap, the contents of the box scattered all around us on the floor. I stretched my legs out and curled around his bent knees as he ran his hands through my hair.