But why hadn’t Whitney gone to her sister for consolation? Or called Susan, who’d always been so good to her? Was it because he’d failed her so badly as a husband that she’d felt ashamed for miscarrying? Had she blamed herself?
During the past few years, Whitney had been increasingly difficult to live with—and he didn’t want to make excuses for the nasty things she’d said and done far too often. But that didn’t change the fact that they’d gotten so out of touch with each other that she obviously hadn’t been able to call for help when she needed it most. It was long past time to step up to fix things between them, not just let his marriage keep falling apart because they couldn’t talk anymore.
He strategized exactly how to do that during the remainder of the weekend, coming up with alternatives, vowing to make things right. By Monday, when Whitney walked in the front door, he was armed with fresh, new plans to build the family they’d always dreamed of.
“Whitney, welcome back.”
She looked surprised to see him at home in the middle of a workday. “Oh, hi. Since you’re here, you can help me with my bags. The shopping was fabulous in France.” She was a stunning woman. But the smile she gave him didn’t reach her eyes.
Or maybe that was just his guilt talking.
Ignoring her bags, and the open front door, he moved to take her hands. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”
She frowned, clearly confused. “In France?” She shook her head. “You would have been bored senseless at the spa and boutiques.”
“No, not France. I’m sorry for not being there for your miscarriages. And for not making sure that you felt comfortable going to Susan or the Mavericks for help in my absence.” No matter how badly she might have behaved in the past, Evan knew his friends and family would unconditionally support her.
She slipped her hands from his to wave away his concern. “It happened very early on each time. You know I recovered easily.” Then she added quickly, “At least physically.”
“I know you did, but I should have gone with you to your doctor to discuss the situation. Especially after you miscarried more than once.”
“No!” She looked horrified by his suggestion. “You didn’t need to talk with my doctor. She’d simply have told you the statistics on miscarriages in the first six weeks just like she told me.”
“I know how hard it is for you to talk about this, Whitney.” She’d never wanted to talk about the medical specifics of why she’d had three back-to-back miscarriages, and he hadn’t wanted to deepen her distress. But now there was too much bottled up grief between them. And he was determined to fix what was broken. “But there’s still a chance. We can figure out what happened and try again.”
She whirled away, her high heels clicking loudly on the marble floor, one hand to her forehead. “It’s too late for all that.”
He put a conciliatory hand on her back and she turned back to face him right before he said, “We’ll talk to the doctor together, and if nothing can be done, there are alternatives.”
Flinching, she jerked a step back, nearly stumbling over one of her bags on the floor. “I don’t want to have children right now.” She huffed a breath, her nostrils flaring. “I simply can’t go through all that again.” She stared at him with misting eyes. “Can’t we just be together, the two of us?”
Losing the babies had torn his insides out. But he knew that it must have been so much worse for Whitney, especially going through it all alone. “You’re right. I completely understand how hard it would be to try again.” Would either of them survive if she lost another baby?
Which was why he turned to the entryway table where he’d left the papers he’d worked on over the weekend. “Let’s try this instead, then.” He handed her the adoption forms, which he’d already filled out. “I’ve made some calls, and the good news is that we’re prime candidates for adoption.” Surely everything would change for them when they had the family they wanted. It was what he’d told himself every time they’d been on the verge of having a child.
“Are you crazy? I don’t want to adopt.” She tossed the papers back onto the table without even looking at them.
His guts twisted. He was doing everything he could to try to fix things, but Whitney was as distant as ever. “I know we planned to have our own kids, but we can still have that big family we’ve always dreamed of.”
“You know you don’t really want to raise someone else’s child.” She pursed her lips, tiny lines flaring out from her mouth. “And I can’t take the blame when you finally come to that realization.”
“I would love a child with all my heart, whether or not he or she is mine biologically.”
The silence was long, echoing in the huge marble foyer. “Well, I’m not sure I can.”
“Whitney.” He held out his hand, but she didn’t take it. “Once you have a beautiful boy or girl, I know you’ll see the baby as your own. As ours.” Again, the silence beat at his eardrums. “We can do this. We can be parents like we’ve always talked about being.”
Something hard, something cold, flashed in her eyes. “You mean like you’ve always talked about.” She made a face. “I don’t even want children.”
Everything went still. As if they were posing for one of those mannequin challenges he’d seen on the Internet. “Of course you do.” She couldn’t mean what she’d just said. It had to be frustration, grief talking. “We’ve always talked about having children together. Right from the beginning. Even before we were married.”