The first couple days were the hardest. I didn't want to believe he was actually gone. It was like a distant dream. Something that wasn't reality. So I lay in our bed, curled in our blankets and in his T-shirt. I stare at the ceiling and think about him. Think about how it might be my fault he was dead. I try to brush off that feeling because it makes me feel queasy inside but I just can't stop. I was the one who rejected his calls. I was the one who wouldn't return his texts. I was the one who received his voicemail right before I got the call that he was dead. His soothing voice had caused my heart to melt into a puddle. I was mad at him for sure, but I felt comforted. I felt like I would have forgiven him right then and there. I heard him cry into the phone telling me how sorry he was. How he didn't mean for any of this to happen. How we were supposed to be getting married in Tuscany. How we were supposed to be together forever. He told me that the second he got home, we would leave for Tuscany. We would go get married. In the middle of the call, I heard a crash. I panicked. I called all the local hospitals asking for him but they didn't have anyone by that name in their hospital. I waited and waited, pacing around the room. That's when I got the call, that he was at the hospital. That he was dead.
Then a week passed. That was the week of his funeral. I stood over his casket and cried my eyes out, tears soaking my black dress. All my friends and family were there but I still felt alone. Alone in my own world. A world of tears. A world of sorrow. A world without Ezra.
The next week wasn't any better. I was monitored twenty four seven by my friends. They watched me as I curled into a ball in our bed and cried. They watched me get tortured by my own thoughts. My own harsh thoughts.
The week after that and the next are like a blur. They buzzed by so fast as if nothing had happened. As if I was the same Aria Montgomery that was normal. That was engaged to Ezra Fitz. That was happy. But I hadn't seen her since he'd gone.
Around two months after, I stood over the toilet and puked my guts out every morning. At first I thought it was just stress. I was making my self sick, just thinking about this whole situation all the time. But soon after, I had a feeling it wasn't the stress so I drug myself out of the apartment for the first time since the funeral and went to the pharmacy. Twenty minutes later I was holding a positive pregnancy test. I waited and waited for one of the lines to disappear but it didn't. I dropped the test, hearing the sound of it hitting the floor. I leaned against the bathroom door, using it as my balance beam then sliding down onto the cold tile.
I didn't tell anyone until it was too noticeable to hide even with a baggy t-shirt. The girls were the first ones to find out. They had come over with lots of movies and Chinese take out, embracing me with hugs and telling me I can get through this. It would have been great encouragement if I believed them. I couldn't do this. I couldn't do this without Ezra by my side. I was carrying Ezra's baby and he'd never get to meet it. That was the worse part. The part that made me cry the most when I thought about it. This baby would grow up without a father and grow up with a mother who was depressed. It's sad to say but that's what I saw in my future. I felt like I would be unhappy my whole life without my Ezra. I wouldn't ever be happy again until I saw him again.
When I was around five months pregnant, it was time to find out the gender of the baby. Spencer went with me and although I had my best friend by my side, I couldn't help but cry. This was supposed to be something Ezra and I did together. I sat down on the examining table and stared down at my bump, trying to imagine a little Ezra inside. A cute curly haired blue eyed baby. I chickened out before the doctor could come in. I couldn't do this without him. We left that doctors office and I decided that I wasn't going to find out the gender until I gave birth.
I sat in bed, every night, taking to the baby. I told the baby that daddy was watching over us. I told the baby that daddy loved them and that he was thinking about us all the time. He was our guardian angel.
The day I gave birth, I knew Ezra was watching. I could feel his presence in the hospital room. I could hear his encouraging words telling me I could do this, telling me everything was going to be okay. At 3:26, I gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. The nurse placed him in my arms and I cried over how precious he was. That's when I decided on his name. Ezra Micheal Fitz Jr. It fit perfectly with his looks. He had Ezra's gorgeous gleaming blue eyes and had little curly locks of black hair.
It's been nine months. Nine horrible months. Nine months of crying. Nine months of misery. Nine months without Ezra, but for once in those nine horrible months, I felt happy. I felt happy snuggled up with my baby. Although he was gone, I had a little piece. A little piece of him.
