the words blurred because my hands were shaking.
Then I forced myself to read.
Ethan,
I don’t know how to say this out loud, so I’m writing it down.
The doctors found something after the miscarriage. I am trying not to panic before I know everything, but I’m scared. I’m scared in a way I don’t know how to carry.
I wanted to tell you last night. I watched you come home so tired, and I lost my courage. Not because I don’t trust you, but because I can feel how far away we are from each other. I don’t know how to ask you to come closer when you already look like you’re trying not to run.
I miss us.
I miss the way you used to reach for me in your sleep. I miss laughing over stupid things. I miss believing that sadness was something we would survive
