Simon had never wanted children. He had never wanted to get married either, but he had made that exception for you. So when you’d gotten that positive pregnancy test a few weeks ago, you thought he might have been… happy. Or at least you thought he would have warmed up to the idea eventually. But he hadn’t. He didn’t yell or scream at you, but you could tell from the look in his eyes, his body language, that he didn’t want this. He hadn’t wanted to talk about it at all over the days that followed, and then he’d gotten called out on some mission. No cell phones, no way to get ahold of him.

When the bleeding had started you had tried, even though you knew you wouldn’t be able to. When you went to the hospital, you had tried. You’d called any and everyone you could think of, but no luck. You knew you’d lost the baby before the doctors had even told you.

So you lay curled up on the couch, absentmindedly watching something on television that you didn’t care about. The front door opens, the sound of a backpack thudding to the floor, boots being taken off, and him calling out to you to let you know he’s home. He appears in the doorway a moment later, studying you for a beat, the dark circles under your eyes. The way you clutch the pillow to your stomach.

“Hey, love” he greets you, crouching down in front of where you’re laying. “Can we talk? About the baby?” he asks, and you can tell by looking at him he hasn’t heard about the miscarriage. He still thinks that you’re upset because he didn’t react to the news the way you wanted him to. He doesn’t know what you had to go through. All by yourself.