Happisad Memories

Chapter 1: Two Weeks

A beautiful, orangey morning sky blinded her when she opened the door. She heard baby laughs echo in the wind and for a second, she thought that this was just a nightmare. But she knew it was all in her head. She painfully made it to her mailbox.

"So, I supposed congratulations are in order?" someone said to her.

"Congratulations?" she asked.

"On your baby girl. Do you have pictures to share?" her neighbor giggled.

Fuck you. This was what she wanted to answer anyone asking for pictures of the baby. Congratulations on her new motherhood would get the same answer. She had decided that they were all her enemies even though she knew deep down that this was not their fault. What had just happened was not common, or at least not common enough for the general population to think for one moment that the outcome was not a good one. But still, in her mind, she could see herself crush their faces with that hammer of sadness and revenge, this imaginary weapon that she had designed and built in her dreams, the same tool that could build this protective wall after each failure and then destroy it when she was ready to show her face again and take on a new challenge. This time it felt worse though: it was a loss and a failure at the same time. Her baby had died, and she was not able to save her. She had never had to deal with this before and had not realized that her wall was not thick enough for her to be out in the open and brave the world. It had only been two weeks after all. She wanted to hide and be forgotten. She wished she could stop breathing if it meant she would be able to meet her baby girl. She hated life for involving death, hated the universe for being so unpredictable, hated people for their careless cluelessness, and above it all, hated herself for everything else she could think of. If the doctors could not give her a reason why her baby girl passed, she would find them all: something she ate, something she drank, something she breathed, the way she slept, the way she sat, the way she walked. If no medical reason was apparent, it had to be something she did or did not do.

She looked at her neighbor, smiled, and let her know that her phone had died and that she would show her pictures later. She was guilty, so, just like any guilty person, she would start by lying to others and herself before dealing with the full consequences of her actions. She walked back to her house, opened the door, sat on her donut cushion covered by an icepack that was on her couch, and started crying. She wanted to cry in silence just like she was taught when she was a child, but she had so much anger in herself that she could not contain her screams behind the veil of her tears. When she noticed that the windows of the living room were open and that anyone could be hearing her, she grabbed a pillow and forced it on her mouth. She could have closed the windows, but this would have meant getting up, seeing if someone was outside, and then getting confirmation on whether she had been heard or not. Getting up was also a strength she did not have. It had taken her hours to come up with the energy to go out in the heat and sun to pick up her mail. Truthfully, she only had made the effort because her phone had just notified her that she had received a package. It was a package for her, an order she was not able to cancel on time, a 'Wonder Woman' onesie she had decided to keep after all, as a keepsake of the baby girl she had just lost, as a reminder that nothing was ever to be taken for granted and that she should have known better.

"I wish I had a 'bitch resting face'," she lashed out at her husband, "if I did, nobody would be checking in on me, nobody would be asking me to repeat myself, nobody would even give a damn if I passed by with a pregnant belly or a normal belly!"

"And nobody would be calling you, texting you, sending you flowers, bringing you meals either," her husband replied, with all the pertinence and sarcasm in the world that had made her fall for him years ago.

He was referring to their friends, family, and coworkers making all efforts possible not to leave them alone and ensuring they did not need anything. Knowing that none of them wanted to do anything, their loved ones had come over with meals, snacks, wine bottles, flowers, gift cards, pretty much anything that would help them and make them think about something else for a bit. It was funny how the same attributes that had made her fall in love with him in the first place had now become her enemies as well. He was burying himself in books and house projects to keep it together. It was his way of coping and moving on, his remedy not to cry. He had promised himself not to fall apart ever again like at the hospital. He had to be strong for himself and the both of them. After all, he was the man of the house. Her way of coping was more basic, it was contained in three words: "Fuck this shit." And just like she was now rejecting what she once had loved about him, he was also starting to despise the foul mouth that had initially caught his attention. They had been married for ten years and had dated for three years before that. They had waited for a long time to build a family, only because her career came first and she did not feel ready to make "mini-me"s as she called them. From job to job, she had built her career and pushed back on family life. She had finally become pregnant after one last request from her husband telling her it was now or never and hinting that he refused for it to be never. They were now both in their mid-thirties. Pregnancy around that time was considered higher risk than if they were in their twenties or early thirties. What if he gave her pushback years ago and they had started earlier? Would a younger body have made a difference? Would the baby have survived?