His name was Joseph Jeremiah Miller. His nursery had been painted blue, with childlike, cartoon images of Noah’s Ark filling the wallpaper borders and shelves. His white crib had been a family heirloom, and the mobile above it had dangled with small, plush animals. His tiny, blue one-piece had laid on the changing table, with matching booties. A receiving blanket had been draped over his crib. Everything was ready for his arrival.
But the baby had been stillborn.
Steven Miller stood before the open closet of what used to be the nursery. After his wife had returned from the hospital, he had found her in the emptied nursery, with a paint roller in her hand, covering with a colour of rich mocha the memories of a child she never had. But the closet had been spared the wrath of her pain, whether by some oversight, or her inability to completely erase Joseph Jeremiah.
The father of the child stepped into the small closet, now empty. He gently laid his fingers on the exaggerated figures and animals of the border. He didn’t stay the tear.
The choice of Noah’s Ark had seemed sweet back then. Upon further thought, he realized the morbidity of decorating a child’s room with such a violent story. But the thought of all the animals lining up seemed so perfectly innocent.
Steven rested his head against the wall, staring at the beige carpet below. He’d had dreams. Cliched and idealistic, but dreams which he had looked forward to. Teaching his son to pitch or punt, taking him to school every morning until he could drive, trying to help him with homework which Steven himself didn’t understand.
But the baby had been stillborn.
Steven willed himself to finally step from the closet, softly sliding the door shut. His bare feet shuffled from the coffee-coloured room, still smelling of paint. He loosened the tie around his neck, tossing his suit jacket on the kitchen table as he passed. The dishes of that night’s supper sat unattended to on the table, screaming of another silent night alone.
Laura had been gone when Steven returned from work last night. He didn’t know where she’d gone. Or when she’d be back. Or if.
Because the baby had been stillborn.
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