Chapter 130 Chapter 130
The logic was flawed, but it came from fear. “You think I care more about the pregnancy than I care about you?” I asked.
“No.”
“Then why protect me from it?”
“Because you fix things,” she said. “And this couldn’t be fixed," she said, and the truth of that settled heavily. She was right; there was nothing to fix. But that didn’t justify exclusion.
“I don’t need protection from loving my wife,” I said quietly, and her shoulders trembled slightly.
“I felt like my body failed again,” she admitted.
“It didn’t.”
“It did," she said. I reached forward and took her hands gently.
“You are not a failure because of biology," I said, but she shook her head.
“I didn’t want to see disappointment on your face," she said.
“There wasn't any," I said firmly. “There was concern, there was grief, there was anger at the universe. Not at you.”
She looked at me like that distinction mattered more than she expected.
“I thought I was sparing you,” she said.
“You were isolating yourself," I said, and her eyes dropped.
That was the real wound, not the miscarriage but the distance.
“If you can endure something like that without me,” I said slowly, “what else can you endure without me?” I asked, and she looked up sharply.
“That’s not fair.” she said
“It’s a valid question.”
“I didn’t leave you," she replied.
“You stepped away," I said.
“I was trying to survive.”
“And I was trying to stand beside you.” I said,
The tension wasn’t explosive; it was heavy, dense, grief layered over pride layered over love.
“I don’t want to lose you,” she said quietly.
“You won’t.”
“But I keep failing.”
“You didn’t fail.”
“I can’t carry a child.”
“You carried grief,” I replied. “Twice. That counts.”
She broke then, not dramatically, but enough that her breath hitched and her shoulders shook. I pulled her into me; this time she didn’t resist. I held her there, not as protection, not as control, but as presence. In my head, something shifted. Not toward anger, toward vigilance. If she felt safer suffering alone than leaning on me, then I had underestimated how deep her fear still ran, and that was on me.
Carlo, Joe, and Jax had done their jobs; they had given me data, but data didn’t repair distance, only trust did, and trust had just revealed a fracture I hadn’t fully understood. As I held her, I realized something that unsettled me more than the miscarriage itself.
She didn’t doubt my power; she doubted her worth inside it, and that was a battle I couldn’t fight with surveillance, money, or force. That required something far more dangerous: patience, and I had never been good at that.
“I……wasn’t ready,” she finished softly, the words nearly swallowed by the space between us. Her voice cracked at the end, though she tried to steady it, and I felt it like a punch I hadn’t anticipated.
I held her gaze, letting the silence stretch, letting the truth sink in for both of us. The miscarriage wasn’t just a biological event; it had become a wedge between us, and now it threatened the fragile rhythm of our marriage. I wanted to fix it, to erase the isolation, but I knew some wounds couldn’t be erased by force. They had to be acknowledged.
“I won’t let you endure anything alone again,” I said finally, my voice quiet but unwavering. “No more hiding, not from me or from anyone who cares about you.”
Her hands shook in mine. She blinked rapidly, trying to hold herself together, and I resisted the urge to pull her against me immediately. I needed her to stay grounded, to stay present, and to understand that she didn’t have to carry this in silence.
“I thought protecting you meant sparing you,” she whispered.
“You were sparing yourself,” I corrected gently. “And in doing so, you built a wall between us. That’s what scared me the most." Her throat tightened, and she swallowed, eyes darting down. “I didn’t want you to see me break again.” she said
“You’ve already seen me break,” I said. “You’ve seen what I feel when you suffer. That doesn’t mean you have to protect me from grief. It means we face it together," I said.
For a long moment, we just sat like that, hands entwined, breathing together. The weight of the unspoken, the lost life, and the fear of repeating it hung thickly in the room. I wanted to take away the ache and the fear, but I couldn’t. What I could do was be present. Steady. Anchored for her.
“I need time,” she admitted finally, voice trembling. “Time to… process everything and not feel like a failure every time I move, every time I breathe," she said, and I nodded slowly, squeezing her hands. “Take all the time you need, but don’t shut me out.”
She looked up, a flicker of vulnerability and relief crossing her features. “I don’t know if I can… I don’t know if I can handle letting anyone in right now," she said.
“You can,” I said firmly. “Because I will stay. I will stay until you let me, and even after. You’re not alone, Tessa. Not now. Not ever.”
Her lip trembled, and she leaned against me, small, fragile, and exhausted. I rested my forehead against hers, feeling her heartbeat and her breath in rhythm with mine. It wasn’t a resolution, and it wasn’t perfect, but it was a beginning.
A beginning that wouldn’t erase what had happened, but it could prevent further distance and further secrecy. That mattered.
When we finally stood up, the tension still lingered, but the immediate crack had been acknowledged. I knew she would need space, and I would give it. But I also knew that I would remain vigilant. Not out of control, but out of care.
Carlo, Jax, and Rob had already started gathering what they could without alerting her, piecing together the last few days, confirming that no outside interventions had occurred, and that everything had stayed inside these walls. I didn’t want to alarm her, but I wanted the full picture. I wanted to understand exactly how this grief had manifested physically and emotionally.
The house seemed quieter that evening, yet heavier, laden with unspoken words and secret fears. I left her in the master suite and descended to my office, pressing a hand against the desk as I processed everything. She had endured this alone, and though I understood why, it wasn’t acceptable.
I needed a plan, not to control her, but to protect her.
“Joe,” I said into the secure line, “keep monitoring the master wing discreetly. Only when necessary. Carlo and Jax will ensure no unusual activity or medical emergencies go unnoticed. We weren't intruding; we were safeguarding.”
“Yes, sir,” Joe replied immediately, his calm voice a contrast to the turmoil in my chest.