Love Died at the Fourth Loss

In three years of marriage, I miscarried three times.

Every time, Wayne Sanchez promised the next time he would be there for me.

By the fourth pregnancy, I quit my job and drank herbal remedies for six months just to get past the first trimester.

The day I lost the baby, he flew to the next state to celebrate Kayla Sharpe's birthday.

She was Wayne's ex-girlfriend, and the third person in my marriage.

I lay alone on the operating table and called him thirteen times.

The fourteenth call finally went through.

The voice on the other end was Kayla's, thick with tears.

"Ivy Joyner, Wayne's cutting the cake with me. Can't you just let him have one peaceful day with me?"

When the call ended, the nurse was holding the consent form out to me.

In the space for next of kin, I wrote my own name.

Three hours later, the doctor said the baby couldn't be saved.

He rushed back overnight and did a great many things.

Made soup, reported his whereabouts, put away every photo of Kayla.

But watching him bustle around, I suddenly felt how strange he was to me.

The servants all said the master had finally come home to me.

But I had already signed the divorce papers.

1.

"The soup's done. And I had Kayla's photos put away."

Wayne set the bowl in front of me.

He was in loungewear, sleeves rolled to his elbows.

This was the chicken soup he'd made himself, three hours over the stove, after rushing back from the next state.

Steam rose and blurred that always cool, self-possessed face of his.

I watched him quietly.

He pulled out the chair across from me and sat, reaching for his water glass out of habit.

Under the glass was a few thin sheets of paper.

His hand paused.

His eyes fell on the bold black print.

Divorce papers.

Wayne's brow creased slightly.

"Ivy, put the papers away for now."

"I know you don't want to hear me explain right now."

"This one's on me. I didn't pick up your calls in time, and I got back late."

He looked into my eyes, his voice softening a little.

"But I'm home now, aren't I?"

I looked at the wellness herbs floating in the bowl, and they stung my eyes.

"I already signed."

There wasn't a single waver in my voice.

Wayne set down the glass and tapped the table twice with his fingers.

That was what he did without thinking when he felt something slipping out of his control.

"Ivy, calm down. It isn't what you think."

"The doctor said long ago that your body isn't suited for pregnancy. This was just an accident."

"Kayla's depression flared up that day. She locked herself in the bathroom and wouldn't come out."

He paused, and there was a matter-of-fact reproach in his tone.

"I only went to make sure she was safe, and while I was there, to spend her birthday with her."

"When I left, all you said was that your stomach felt a little off."

"If I'd known it was this serious, I wouldn't have gone."

I lifted my head and looked at the man I had loved for three years.

"Wayne, this isn't the first time."

The first three times I miscarried, he sat across from me exactly like this.

The first time, he said the company had an important merger and he couldn't get away.

The second time, he said Kayla had just moved back and didn't know her way around, and he had to help her settle in.

The third time, he said it was just an accident, and that next time he would surely be there for me.

Every time, he had a flawless reason.

He thought that as long as he bought a bag afterward and made a pot of soup, I'd forgive him the way I always had.

"I'm not throwing a fit."

I picked up the spoon and stirred the warm soup.

"I don't want any of it anymore."

"I only want a divorce."

Wayne's face finally darkened.

He stood, came to my side, and looked down at me.

"Over one missed call?"

"Ivy, I told you I put her photos away."

"I told her not to come around for a while, too."

"What more do you want from me?"

He reached out to touch my hair.

I turned my head aside and dodged it.

His hand froze in the air, then slowly tightened and drew back.

"When you're feeling better, we'll go skiing in Switzerland."

"You've always wanted to go, haven't you?"

He made the decision all by himself.

I put down the spoon and stood.

"Wayne, do you know what I was thinking when I signed that surgical consent form?"

"I was thinking, maybe you'd already cut the cake for her."

I looked into his eyes and said it calmly.

"I don't want to go skiing in Switzerland anymore."

Wayne's breath stopped for a moment.

He stared at me for a long time, and something restless flickered in his eyes.

Then he reached out and picked up the divorce papers from the table.

A sharp rip.

The thin sheets tore in two, and he threw them into the trash.

"Divorce is out of the question."

He straightened his cuffs and slid back into his usual coldness.

"You've been unstable these past few days. I won't hold it against you. Drink your soup."

"I have a meeting today. I'll be home early tonight to have dinner with you."

With that, he turned toward the entryway, took his car keys, and left.

The moment the door closed, the house fell quiet again.

The chicken soup on the table had already gone cold.

After Wayne left, Polly Chavez came out of the kitchen.

She looked at the shredded paper in the trash, then at the soup on the table, still untouched.

"Ma'am, he really knows he was wrong this time."

Polly sighed, and there was real ache in her voice.

"He came back in the middle of the night, didn't even change his clothes. Just stood in the kitchen watching over that pot of soup."

"He told me too, no more scallions in the cooking from now on. Said the smell turns your stomach."

Listening to Polly, I almost wanted to laugh.

Three years of marriage, and he'd finally remembered I don't eat scallions.

But I didn't need it anymore.

I turned and started up the stairs.

"Polly, pour the soup out."

"But sir told me"

"Pour it out." I didn't look back.

Back in the bedroom, I pulled open the door of the walk-in closet and dragged out a black suitcase.

It wasn't big, just enough for a few changes of clothes.

I didn't take the couture gowns Wayne had bought me.

I didn't take the designer bags he'd have his assistant send over for every holiday.

I only took a few old things I'd bought before the marriage.

I pulled open the drawer. A row of jewelry boxes sat there, lined up neatly.

The most eye-catching was a sapphire necklace.

He'd won it at an auction last year, after my third miscarriage, to smooth things over with me.

Later I saw one exactly like it on Kayla's social media.

The caption read: "The one who was there from the start understands my heart best."

I closed the drawer again and turned the lock.

My phone buzzed on the bed.

A message from Wayne.

"Want that seafood chowder from the south side tonight? I'll swing by on my way home from work."

The south side was most of the way across town from our house.

He used to hate wasting time on the road more than anything.

Now he was willing to make the detour for me.

I looked at the words on the screen, my finger hovering over the keyboard, and in the end I pressed the lock button.

Clearing out the nightstand, I dug up an old tin box.

Inside was a thick stack of medical records and ultrasounds.

The one on top was dated three days ago.

That was when the doctor pointed at the little black dot on the screen and told me the heartbeat was strong.

I called Wayne right away, so happy.

The phone rang a long time before he picked up.

"Wayne, the baby has a heartbeat"

"Ivy, Kayla lost her passport, she's crying her eyes out at the airport, I have to go over there."

He cut me off, his voice rushed.

"We'll talk about the heartbeat when I get back. Just take yourself home for now."

The call ended.

That day, I sat alone on a bench at the hospital, watching the downpour start outside.

I hadn't brought an umbrella, and I got soaked on the way.

By the middle of the night I was running a fever, a dragging pain low in my belly.

Until, in the end, I was lying on the cold operating table.

I took the records out one by one and tore them to pieces.

Then I threw them, tin box and all, into the trash bag.

That afternoon, my lawyer messaged me.

"Miss Joyner, I've sent the digital copy of the divorce papers to your email."

"If Mr. Sanchez still refuses to sign, our only option is litigation."

"But a contested divorce takes a long time. You'll need to be prepared for that."

I replied with a single word. Okay.

I zipped the suitcase shut and pushed it over by the door.

I looked around this home I'd spent three years putting together with such care.

I'd picked the curtains, chosen the rug, carried every plant in that corner home myself, one pot at a time.

Now it just felt suffocating.

I put on my shoes and picked up the suitcase.

"Ma'am, where are you going?" Polly heard the noise and hurried out.

"Away, for a few days." My voice was calm.

"But sir's coming home for dinner tonight"

I opened the door. The early autumn wind met me head-on, carrying a hint of cold.

"Don't wait for me to come back."

I didn't go far. I just rented a small apartment downtown.

It wasn't much, but it was quiet enough.

Once I'd unpacked, I took a cab to the hospital.

The follow-up results from my D&C surgery were due today.

The hospital corridors always smelled of disinfectant, people coming and going, everyone in a hurry.

I sat on a plastic chair outside the OB-GYN department, my registration slip pinched between my fingers.

The intercom called my name.

The doctor was a woman in her fifties, the department head. She read my report with her brow drawn tight.

Ms. Joyner, your uterine lining is already very thin.

Four miscarriages in a row. The damage to your body is irreversible.

She set the paper down and looked me in the eye.

The chance of conceiving naturally from here on is extremely low, and even if you did, it would be very hard to carry to term.

You should prepare yourself for the possibility that you may never be able to have a child of your own.

I listened in silence.

Some corner of my heart felt hollowed out.

I understand. Thank you, Doctor.

I folded the report and slid it into my bag.

As I stepped out of the exam room, Wayne Sanchez called.

Ivy, you're not home?

Polly said you left with a suitcase. Where did you go?

I looked at the window at the end of the corridor. The sunlight was harsh.

I moved out.

Ivy Joyner! He dropped his voice, like he was holding down his temper.

I told you I won't sign that agreement. What is this, moving out?

Where are you? I'll send the driver to pick you up.

No need. My tone was flat.

I'm at the hospital right now.

The other end went quiet for a second.

A follow-up? Why didn't you tell me? I could have gone with you.

His voice softened, back to the attentive, devoted husband.

I happen to be in a meeting nearby. Which building are you in? I'll come right over.

I was about to say don't bother, but my eyes went past the crowd and stopped at the far end of the corridor.

OB-GYN and psychiatry were on the same floor, with only one long corridor between them.

The door to the psychiatry office opened.

Wayne came out in that well-cut black suit, a few boxes of medicine in his hand.

Behind him, in a sundress, was Kayla Sharpe.

Kayla's face was pale, her eyes rimmed red, looking pitiful.

She reached out and gripped Wayne's sleeve, half her body leaning against him.

My hand went to my lower belly without my meaning it to. I would never have a child again.

Wayne didn't push her off.

One hand held his phone to his ear, the other rested at Kayla's waist.

Ivy, give me ten minutes. The meeting's almost over.

I stood where I was and watched him lie into the phone without a flicker on his face.

Wayne Sanchez. I said his name.

Mm?

Look up.

Wayne froze for a moment, then lifted his head on reflex.

The expression on his face locked up in an instant.

His phone slipped from his hand, and he let go of Kayla's waist all at once.

Kayla saw me and shrank back behind him.

Wayne came striding toward me.

Ivy, let me explain.

Kayla had a breakdown last night and slit her wrist. I couldn't just leave her.

He pointed at the gauze on Kayla's wrist, trying to prove every word was true.

I was going to come find you the second she got her medicine.

I watched him scramble to explain, and it all felt pointless.

You don't need to explain. I stepped aside.

You brought her in to see a doctor. That's perfectly reasonable.

Wayne's brow knit, as if my reaction displeased him.

Are you following me?

Ivy, I told you there's nothing between me and her. Do you really have to check up on me like this?

In his eyes, my being here wasn't chance. It was surveillance.

That was when Kayla walked over.

Ivy, don't blame Wayne.

I really didn't mean to. I was just so scared.

Wayne told me before that whenever I needed him, he'd come.

She looked at me, eyes brimming. It's all my fault. I shouldn't have called him.

But I really couldn't control myself

Wayne stepped in front of her.

Enough. Stop talking.

He said it over his shoulder to Kayla, then turned back to me.

Be reasonable. Don't make a scene right now.

I looked at his face, so sure he was in the right, and I didn't even have the strength to be angry.

I nodded and turned toward the elevator.

Carry on, then.

I walked fast, and the elevator doors slid open right as I reached them. I stepped inside.

Wayne didn't come after me.

To him, my turning and walking away was nothing but a silent protest.

He was certain that once I cooled off, I'd still be waiting for him back at that house.

Outside the hospital doors, the sunlight stung my eyes until they ached.

I took a cab back to the little apartment.

Sitting on the couch, I took out my phone and started clearing away every trace of him.

I unlinked the shared family card he'd given me.

I left the family group chat with his relatives in it.

I deleted the calendar we shared.

Then, last, I opened his profile on the messaging app.

The chat still stopped where it had half an hour ago, at his message about buying me the seafood chowder from the south side of town.

I didn't hesitate. I hit block.

His phone number went into the blocked list along with it.

When it was done, the apartment was so quiet I could hear the clock ticking.

I lay down on the bed and closed my eyes.

My body was exhausted, but my mind was strangely clear.

Eight o'clock that night.

Wayne pushed open the front door of the villa.

He was carrying the famous seafood chowder from the south side of town, the box still steaming.

"Ivy, I've got the chowder."

He changed his shoes and called out as he walked in.

No answer.

The living room was dark, no lights on.

He frowned and reached over to flip the switch on the wall.

The crystal chandelier came on, lighting up an empty living room.

"Mrs. Sanchez isn't back yet?" he asked Polly as she came out of the kitchen.

Polly looked caught between things.

"Sir, after Mrs. Sanchez left this afternoon with her suitcase, she never came back."

Wayne set the chowder on the dining table, his face darkening.

He took out his phone and called me.

"We're sorry, the number you are trying to reach is on another call"

He called several times in a row, and every time it was the same recording.

He finally understood. He'd been blocked.

He yanked his tie loose, irritated, and took the stairs two at a time, pushing open the bedroom door.

The bedroom had been tidied out.

On the vanity, the skincare I always used was gone.

In the closet, those few old clothes of mine were gone.

He walked to the bed and saw a key sitting on the nightstand.

It was the key to this villa.

Beside the key sat a velvet box.

Wayne's fingers gave an uncontrollable twitch.

He opened the box.

Inside was a pair of small lock-shaped diamond earrings.

He had once put them on my ears with his own hands, saying he'd lock me to him for the rest of my life.

They were the first gift he ever gave me, and I had treasured them beyond measure.

Now I'd given them back to him.

Wayne stared at them for a long time.

His breathing turned heavy, his chest heaving.

He finally saw it.

I really didn't want him anymore.