Wesley lifts his hands from the keyboard of his computer and looks at them. They’re covered in blood. He hadn’t even noticed. His once pristine white Macbook was now smeared with blood. He was unable to move. He just sat there, replaying the images over and over. He was afraid to go upstairs to the bathroom and confirm whether the story that stared back at him from the computer was true.
Of course he knew it was, but that still left one question...what had he done with it? Without his permission his legs stood. They walked him out of his study and up the stairs. They walked him past the bathroom thats door was slightly ajar, which enabled him to smell the coppery odor of blood as he whisked past. His legs stopped just in front of the guest room - what they had planned to turn into the nursery. He’d even begun to assemble a crib and test different paint colors on the walls.
He push the door open and switched on the light. He could see the half assembled crib against the far wall. He was compelled to walk over to it even though he was silently begging his legs to give out on him before he got there. When he was just several steps away the coppery smell hit him again. He fell down to his knees the moment he saw it lying there on the unsheeted mattress of the crib. Blood was surrounding it in a nearly perfectly circular puddle.
That’s the image that stayed with him. The halo of red around what he still liked to think could’ve been a beautiful baby girl. His baby girl. It clung to the recesses of his mind like a stubborn spider web.
But none of that mattered now. He wouldn’t have to think about it anymore. Soon he would fall asleep and slip away from his body and he could leave those images behind. Soon it would be as if he never even existed. He realized the weight of it all as he laid there on the bathroom floor, waiting for the pains of overdose to grip him and pull him under. If only that baby had been so lucky as so have been a miscarriage. But it wasn’t...none of us are.