Why I Lost Her

Chapter 7

By the time Devon had realized what was about to happen, it was almost too late.

Lacey began swaying on her feet, her expression falling. He rushed to her side immediately, grabbing Baby Luke. Lacey, however, fell on her side, hitting her head on the bedside table.

"Lacey!", cried Devon, desperately.

He couldn't keep them both from falling; their child would always be his priority.

Devon placed the screaming child on the bed and tucked him in tightly, making sure he couldn't fall off.

Grabbing onto the phone on the bedside table, he repeated Lacey's name over and over, to himself. 9-1-1, he dialled.

Sirens blared throughout the suburban NYC neighborhood.

By the time the ambulance had arrived, Maggie had lost a significant amount of blood. Lacey remained unconscious.

It didn't look great for Devon, but thanks to the cameras set up all over the house for Lacey, he was released almost immediately.

This was, however, the last thing Devon wanted for their family. Now, the police knew. How much? That, he didn't know. They may've known about Lacey's illness, about how she was not properly treated for her condition. About how she was a threat to her three-year-old. About how he'd allowed it all to happen.

Devon shivered, lost in his thoughts, as he sat in the sickeningly white hospital waiting room, a lingering scent of cleaning product and antibacterial hand soap in the cold air.

For the time being, his biggest concern, however, was his child. Luke was still with child services; in a stranger's home. Devon was legally not allowed to see his son until the entire situation cleared up. Even though he was a free man for the time being, he had still allowed Lacey, his mentally-ill and violent wife to stay with him and his child without receiving professional treatment. Despite his studies and general qualifications, he was not yet a licensed psychiatrist.

Maggie had been released from the hospital with minor scarring and bruises. Otherwise, she was fine.

Lacey, however, had a concussion. The doctor soon walked in to speak with Devon. She hadn't woken up, but he was now allowed to see her.

He stepped slowly into her room, a bouquet of flowers in his hands, as if she were in any condition to receive them. Now, hovering over her inanimate body, he could appreciate her youthful features, her aura of innocence and light. Almost as if there was nothing wrong with her. As if he'd never left her alone and pregnant. As if she wasn't broken. As if he hadn't broken her.

The guilt sometimes got to him. Sometimes he'd cry like a baby, other times he'd bang his fist against mirrors, break vases... glass was his favorite thing to destroy. Irreparable, disastrous, difficult to pick up the pieces. Just like Lacey.

Right now, however, he could only sigh, sit down next to her, and hold her hand. For them, for all they'd gone through, for Maggie, and most importantly, for their son.