Lindsey was supposed to be a father.
Well, maybe not, considering he (or they) had never actually had a child.
But they did for a little while. They were parents for a few blissful weeks.
She was glowing. She had always been the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, but for that brief time she was carrying their child, she had never been more beautiful. She was so happy. He was happy.
They were dirt poor, living in a small apartment they could barely even afford. There wasn't an extra room for a baby to sleep in. Their mattress was on the floor and they were trying to get their careers off the ground.
It was the worst time to get pregnant, but when she told him with tears in her eyes, he just kissed her and said, "we don't have much, but we have enough love to give our baby. We'll make it work."
And she believed him.
For that short period of time, they did make it work. They still recorded and wrote their music, but they also flipped through baby books and attempted to come up with names.
Looking back on it, it was the best time in his life.
He'd have given her and that baby anything in the world. If he could have, he would've given them the moon and the stars.
It just wasn't meant to be, he supposed.
He had been naive enough to believe that they could bounce back from the loss of their child. They had, in their own way, for a little while.
He just always knew in the back of his mind that they never truly healed from their loss, and that may have added to the list of reasons they ended their relationship. Neither of them admitted to it, and they never would.
One night at the studio, he heard her recording the most beautiful song about their lost child and he realized how much it had truly hurt her. It was then that he realized how much it had truly hurt him as well, and that he was always walking around with a heavy heart. He wondered if she felt that same heaviness in her own.
He wondered if their hate and anger had been a direct result of what happened to them. In a situation like theirs, it was much easier to be angry with each other, with God, than it was to be broken and to always wonder why.
So maybe, maybe what he was really trying to do this whole time, when he would come to her room, desperate to be inside of her; maybe he was trying to give back to her what they had lost. Everything they had lost.
And wasn't that a sick fucking game to play.
He had someone already who wanted to marry him and have a family with him and he just didn't care.
If he couldn't have that with her, then he didn't want it at all.
It was selfish to try for another baby with her, he knew. He just wanted something tangible; some sort of proof that they could create something pure and innocent and so, so beautiful.
He wanted to see her glow again.
She had been through too much; lost too many of the others. He wanted to be the one, the only one to give her this. It would not be the quiet life in the suburbs that he dreamt about if they had married, but it would be something. It would be theirs.
For once, they could have it all.
He didn't know how to tell her. He didn't know what one is supposed to say when they desperately want to give the woman who haunts their dreams a beautiful child.
He didn't know how to tell her he wanted to be by her side the whole time and he just wanted them to be happy again like they were the first time.
He didn't know how to convince her that this time could be different; that this time they wouldn't lose their hope or their miracle.
Perhaps he wanted too much.
Perhaps Stevie would always be a mother without a child.
Perhaps he would always be a father who never got a chance.
