Chapter 4
The heavy wooden door clicked shut behind Sarah, sealing David and Clara back into their isolated sphere of grief and resentment. The silence that rushed back in was thicker now, charged with the aftermath of his compliance. David let out a long, ragged breath, running a hand through his short dark hair as he turned to face the empty bassinet once more. The white mesh lining inside the small wheeled cart looked pristine, untouched, and utterly mocking.
"We need to pack your bag, Clara," David said, forcing a brisk, administrative tone into his voice as he walked over to the small vinyl overnight bag resting on the chair by the window. He unzipped it with a sharp, metallic sound. "The doctor said you can leave by noon. There’s no point in lingering here. It’s not healthy for either of us."
Clara shifted in the bed, pulling the white hospital gown tighter around her shoulders as if she were suddenly freezing. "You haven't asked once," she said softly.
David froze, his hand resting on a folded sweater inside the bag. He did not turn around. "Asked what, Clara? I’ve asked everything. I’ve talked to the doctors, I’ve filled out the forms, I’ve managed the logistics of this entire catastrophe."
"You haven't asked how I feel," Clara said, her voice rising slightly, cutting through his rehearsed excuses like a scalpel. "You haven't asked where my heart went when they told us. You’ve only asked how soon we can pretend this never happened."
David turned around slowly, his expression tightening. "That is completely unfair," he defended himself, his voice dropping into a harsh whisper. "You think this hasn't broken me? You think I don't feel this? I’m trying to keep us from completely falling apart. Someone has to keep moving forward, Clara. If we both sit here and drown, we'll never get out."
"Moving forward isn't forgetting," Clara replied, her eyes narrowing as she looked at him with an intensity that made him want to shrink away. "You didn't just want to move forward, David. You wanted to discard the evidence. That bassinet was wheeled in here yesterday morning because we were supposed to take two healthy babies home. Now it's empty, and you're treating it like a piece of abandoned furniture that’s cluttering up your view."
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David took a step toward the bed, his chest heaving with restrained anger. "What do you want from me? Do you want me to sit here and weep openly for the neighbors to see? Do you want me to tear my hair out? I deal with things differently. I internalize. I process."
"You bury," Clara corrected him sharply. "And you expect me to shovel the dirt on top of them right along with you."
