I wanted out. Out of this hospital. Out of my skin. Out of this world. I wanted not to be myself. I wanted to be wherever Bobby was.

I jolted up, reaching for the IV.

“No!” Julia shouted, grabbing for my hand. “I need a nurse!” she shouted. She hushed her tone and looked me in the eyes. “Lilly. Lilly. If you don't calm down they will tie you and sedate you again.”

“I don't care!” I screamed as nurses made their way to me.

“Just — just give me a second,” my sister commanded. She had a presence about her. Serious. Authoritative. It was one of the reasons she and I rarely clicked. Sometimes she felt more like a mother than our mother did. The nurses paused. “Lilly, please just breathe,” she begged.

But I didn't want to breathe. I didn't want to exist. I wanted to go back into the darkness. To the warm hug of the sedatives. Maybe I would see Bobby there.

“I want to see him!” I shouted, trying to leave my bed. The nurses swarmed in and gave me what I needed.

“From what we can tell, it's still the case . . .” The doctor's hushed voice lulled me out of my sleep.

I watched his tall blur, in a white coat, speaking down to Julia, her dress a fog of blues, reds, and purples.

“I'm not sure we should tell her yet . . . she's in no condition,” my sister suggested.

This time when I tried to sit up, the restraints were still on. “What?” I croaked.

They both looked down at me.

My sister let out a big sigh and marched over to me. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Tell me what?” I asked, fighting to stay focused amidst the haze.

“You should rest. There's no rush.”

“I'm not an idiot,” I snapped. “Doctor—what is still the case?” I asked.

He gave my sister a look of concern. She nodded subtly. He turned to face me with his arms crossed and cleared his throat.

“I, um . . . you were brought to the hospital because of some vaginal bleeding. We performed some tests and discovered you are pregnant.”

I heard the breath escape my lungs as I sank further into the bed as if I was a spectator outside of my own body. “Are?” I asked.

“Yes. Your bleeding was heavy enough to be cause for concern. However, it is not unusual for women this early into pregnancy to experience some form of bleeding. There was no tissue in the blood, which is what we see with a miscarriage. You also haven’t bled since. From what we can tell . . . you are still pregnant. But it’s very early. We cannot hear a heartbeat yet. And we aren’t one-hundred percent sure why this happens. Some women just have a scare, sometimes it’s indicative of something serious later in the pregnancy. The head trauma and the stress of your recent experience may have exacerbated the issues. You will need to see your regular physician to monitor this pregnancy closely. Any early bleeding puts you in a higher risk category, which is why I want to make sure you understand while our tests show you are pregnant, we have to be cautious here.”

“How early?”

“Well, the heartbeat comes in at around six weeks. Examining you, I’d guess at most, four weeks. Probably three. But there’s no way to be sure.”

I did the mental math. I hadn’t completed sex with Rory since before my last period about a month ago. My chest collapsed when I realized what this meant. What I already knew but hadn't allowed myself to take on because of the magnitude of the news, until the doctor confirmed it. No matter how much I gasped, the air that left my lungs would not come back.

“Please . . . I can't . . . breathe . . .” I stuttered. Maybe Julia was right. Maybe I wasn’t ready to learn this information.

The doctor waved over some nurses and together they released me from the restraints and sat me up.

“Oh . . . Bobby,” I cried, as if he could hear me. This should have been good news. But this was all wrong. We were supposed to be celebrating this together. Planning our lives around this blessing. Instead, I hadn't even fully comprehended the news of his loss. He didn't feel gone. I felt like I could get in my car and drive to the lake house and he would be waiting there for me with a smile on his face. And I would jump into his arms and tell him I had a surprise. And we would laugh and then cry tears of joy.

But I was in a hospital bed, and Bobby was lying in a morgue with two holes in his back. He left with all the good parts of me. I was just a shell. How could I do this alone? How could I raise our child? How could I live a million lives for us when I didn't even want to live this one any longer?

I finally caught my breath, which only allowed me to sob. “He's not dead. He's not dead.” I chanted to myself. I believed once before he was, and he showed up at my door. And when I first saw him I told him he should have stayed dead. Now, I would give anything for him to come back to me.

Bobby beat death to see me again. To tell me he never left. That he never stopped thinking about me. That I was what brought him back. If I brought him back once, I hoped my tears could do it again.

I slumped back into the bed. I didn't want to hear anymore. I didn't want to speak. I just wanted to soak in this despair. This pain that connected me to him. I wrapped my arms around my stomach, to the only living part of Bobby in this world, hugging myself and the life inside of me. I hoped wherever Bobby was he could feel me hugging him, willing him to return.

But people don't come back from the dead once. And they sure as hell don't come back twice.

For two nights I cried. I cried more than I thought a person could cry. It felt like I could flood the lake with my tears for Bobby.

My sister sat there for most of the day and didn't say a word. There was nothing she could say. I didn't care yet about Stan or Rory. The sorrow was so all-encompassing that it stole all the space inside of me. There was no room yet for anger or vengeance.

Just sorrow.

Sorrow so deep it was like a mirror reflecting on another mirror. Infinite. Boundless. Endless. Sorrow that hurt my bones. Gripped at my heart with angry claws. Wrung my stomach into misshaped knots. Made my eyes raw.

It took my breath away at random moments. There were times when I thought I might suffocate, like Bobby stole the air right out of my chest when he left this world.

I had no room to even love the life inside of me. Because I gave all my love to Bobby; I left it with him, soaked in his blood in that parking lot.

People try to separate emotional anguish and physical pain as if they are different. But anyone who has ever experienced a loss this tragic understands you feel that pain everywhere. You carry it with you in every cell. It's invisible. There are no cuts or bruises. But every breath aches. Everything hurts.

The nurses gave me mild sedatives, but whenever I woke, I couldn't take my first breath without weeping. Even they pitied me. When my sister had to leave at night, one of them came and stroked my hair as I sobbed Bobby's name over and over. Throughout the night, I begged for him to come back, but each morning, I woke up and he was still gone. That gentle gesture from a stranger, I am convinced, kept my heart beating, because I was sure this grief would eventually stop it. I didn't think the heart could survive a hurt this strong.

But underneath all the pain, something started to stir. It was so minuscule—A speck of strength compared to the monolith of devastation. It was Bobby. Inside of me. He did find a way to live. And he needed me to keep him alive. He said he would never leave me and he kept his promise.