If only

“Pick up the phone, Dy,” Mia prayed. The phone rang. And rang. Mia sighed. Back to the usual pattern. She had refused him something he wanted, now he wouldn’t talk to her for a couple of days.

Mia thought back to last night’s party. “Its my life,” she had hissed angrily at him as he waited patiently for her to hand the glass to him. “Its our baby,” he had told her quietly. “The doctor said an occasional drink won’t hurt.” “The doctor didn’t say anything of the sort, Mia,” he was losing his cool now. “And even if she did, I wouldn’t want you imbibing strong spirits at this point.” “You wouldn’t want me? Do you own me?” Mia was furious. She gulped the drink in one go and banged the glass down on the table behind her. He looked at her in cold anger, then walked out of the party. Without her. He wasn’t home when she reached. Now he wouldn’t pick up the phone. She was familiar with the behaviour. Their behaviour.

But this time, please pick up, she hoped. She tried every few minutes, all the way to the doctor.

Dylan reached the hospital at breakneck speed when he received a call from Mia’s best friend. “Where is she?” he shook the girl; the friend pointed mutely. He reached her bedside just as she gave a long, shuddering sob. “Mia,” he cried out and went towards her.

“She’ll be fine in a day,” the doctor looked curiously at him. “Physically that is. She’ll need all the support she can until she recovers mentally. No lasting damage, don’t try for another baby so soon, though.”

Dylan went towards her, wanting to hold her, soothe her. The crying girl on the bed turned toward the wall, rolling up into a tight ball, excluding him. That was the beginning of the end, he realized it now, on hindsight. If only she hadn’t been defiant. If only he hadn’t tried to punish. If only the baby had lived. If only.