Sarah Gilmore

Wes had taken my phone, sent a message and plans changed. Something about Jayla and a cookout that was supposed to happen. In all fairness, I didn't hear much, or I heard but didn't absorb the information.

I was numb.

A heavily sinking feeling that made me think if I spaced out and meditated in my own head, that maybe I could become made of whatever fantastical organic material that the bullet-proof superheroes were made from. Knowing how absurd the idea was, I didn't care. The melancholy desire to be able to be unharmable was also the thing that pushed me to pursue my medical career.

Life was fragile. The closer you were to not being at all, the more precious your life. Being conceived and born to being sick or elderly made people more cherished.

Going through loss and grief was something that forever would be hard for anyone, but it hit some worse than others. Remi had once described her healing progress after her mom as strength. Saying that it was so devastating at first because the love she had for her mother was all-consuming.

Remi had compared her loss to a gaping wound that eventually would heal but needed proper care to get there. She said there would always be a scar, but how you healed and strengthened the area, or in her case memory of her mother, the easier it would become to move forward.

Remi could have never imagined how much her words had affected me. I never told her. Because of her, I drew strength after my pregnancy loss'.

Unfortunately, the proverbial cheese grater against my wound of child-loss was causing mental instability, fear, doubt, and anxiety; completely shredding what was left of my safe mental walls, strength, and compartmentalization for my job.

Sitting in the silence of my home, I stared blankly at a spot across the room. Vision unfocused and distant, almost as if hyper focused on something imaginary or too small to see. All while my head churned with constant whirr of sounds and thoughts. Containing random songs, phrases, static, and memories.

Wes' handsome face entered my vision, but I was so tuned out that I didn't blink or look away from my spot. The spot that soon became part of Wes' shirt. When his warm hands cupped my cheeks, the spell broke and the tears fell.

"What can I do?" He pulled me into his arms and pressed his cheek to the top of my head.

"I just— I just need to..." I stopped and sniffled into his shirt.

"I'll do anything. Name it."

"Home. I want to go home." My whisper was barely audible and I wasn't sure if he even heard me, but I knew he did.

His hand on my back that had been pressing slow circles into my sore back paused. Kissing my hair, he shifted under me and pulled us into the pillows.

Closing my eyes, I felt his hands busy with something that I could only assume was his phone. When he was done, he held me.

All my worries started melting as his larger body held mine. My breathing finally calmed and I felt the shift in my body.

Pressed to Wes Dalton, my belly gave a familiar flutter. If it were my first pregnancy, I would have thought that it had been gas. I knew better.

Feeling started to seep back into me the longer I held him in his arms. Too many feelings.

Overwhelming. Flooding. Consuming. Devastating.

All I could do was let it all come and push through me. I needed to release the emotions that I had ignored for a lifetime. Knowing that I needed to was different.

Things were changing and I didn't know what to do next. Not knowing was scary. I had always been prepared for my unprepared chaos, but with this new chapter... it was foreign to me.

—

Wes Dalton

"I'll do anything. Name it." Soul deep, I meant it. There were often times I spoke without thinking and although this was one of those moments, I meant every single word. What I hadn't expected was—

"Home. I want to go home," she whispered. So quiet and small that I barely heard it.

I pressed my palm to her back and leaned down to kiss the top of her head. I used the moment to snag my phone from my back pocket. Something I had been thinking a lot lately surfaced.

Shooting a text to some family in the Northern Virginia area and started acting on an impulse that I had prior approval to do... kinda.

I held her close and let her cry. She made no other noises, sniffles, or sobs, but I knew.

My shirt was wet and not becoming more dry.

Sarah was home for me. Wherever she was, I wanted to be with her. There were actions I needed to take to make sure she felt how strongly I felt for her.

There was plenty that she hadn't talked about with me, but I had never been more certain of how I felt and I needed to figure out a way for her to fully understand the gravity.

Her pull on me was overpowering and I refused to let her run from me.

My phone buzzed and I saw the sender. I knew what the message would say so I spoke without unlocking my phone.

"We can leave tomorrow. Just pack a bag."

Sarah let a humorless laugh fall from her mouth and she said, "As much as I want to just leave... I can't. I have work. I can't just leave."

"You can. You will. I'll take care of it all. Just pack a bag."

"With what? For how long?" Her questions came out as rapid fire and there were more she rattled off as I got up and made my way into the kitchen with my phone.

"I told you; I'll take care of it. Love you, Sweetness."

She gave me a smile and stopped questioning it.

There were a few calls I needed to make, but I would get it worked out so that for however long she needed, she could disassociate or evade the truth... Whatever happened next, I could guarantee that I would be with her.