Chapter 1: The fall

Hideous, all-consuming, paralyzing fear. That was the sole feeling he could experience as he dashed down the stairs to where her body was lying. Her eyes were close. No, God, no, no. It couldn't… She couldn't… He gently put his arms around her.

"Scarlett," his voice hoarse. "Scarlett, talk to me."

Her eyelids flickered and he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. She isn't dead. She isn't dead. He kept repeating the words again and again in his mind as he carefully lifted her up to his arms.

"Mammy," he yelled, but the old servant was already at the top of the stairway looking down at them in pure horror. "Send for Dr. Meade."

He was already climbing up, two steps at a time, her limb body pressed against him. He rushed to her bedroom and as mildly as he could master placed her on the bed.

He took her face in his hands. "Scarlett," he called again. No response. "Scarlett," he gave a soft pat on her cheek.

She opened her eyes for a second and then shut them again.

"No, no. Stay with me, Scarlett. Stay with me," he pleaded and she obeyed, the brightest shade of green he had ever seen staring back at him.

He caressed her skin, her hair, the bruise already appearing on her right cheekbone.

"The doctor will be here any moment now. You'll be alright. I promise you'll be alright. Try and stay with me until then. Can you do that?"

"I can't breathe," she whispered and gasped for air. "I can't…"

"Does it hurt?"

She nodded.

"There?" he placed his hand on her left side and her face twisted with pain.

"I can't breathe," she murmured again.

"Of course you can." She shook her head in agony. "Look at me, Scarlett. Look at me." She gasped again. "Focus on me. Come on, darling, focus on me," he urged and she did. "Now, breathe with me."

She panicked.

"It's alright," he reassured. "I'm here. I have you. Take a deep breath now, along with me."

She took a torturous gulp.

"That's it, my darling. That's it. I know it hurts like hell, but draw another one for me. There. There. That's my girl."

Breath after agonizing breath he guided her away from panic. But then a new wave of pain distorted her features and she moaned in anguish. Her hands flew to her abdomen and as his eyes followed her movements he saw with terror the blood spreading quickly between her legs soaking the bedsheets. No, no, no, no.

"The baby," she sobbed, tears flowing down her cheeks. "My baby."

Everything fell to pieces, his heart literally breaking. Her baby? Their baby! Eyes burning and throat dry, he was lost for words. What could he possibly offer to console her? What could he possibly do to take back that horrible morning, his despicable remarks, his cruel actions? How to take her pain away and suffer it instead of her? With a will of its own, his hand rested upon hers. She weakly shook it off.

"You don't want it," she accused. "And now it's too late."

"No," he said quickly. "No, it's not too late." He lay next to her and took her in his arms. "The doctor will come and the baby will be fine."

He knew it was a lie. It couldn't survive such a fall. And the blood. So much blood. But he had to hope against hope that it would. Or else go mad.

"I don't want to lose it, Rhett," she cried. "I don't."

"The baby will be fine," he murmured again and again. "Our baby will be fine."

When his palm slid down on her abdomen again, she grabbed it in hers. He softly caressed the barely noticeable curve –the baby he knew not existed half an hour ago and it would exist no more– silently biding it goodbye. And he held his wife's suffering body, his sobs as inaudible as hers, as she miscarried on her bed.

Sometime along this calamity, Dr. Meade came.

"No," Rhett barked without giving him a chance to finish his phrase.

He wouldn't go anywhere. His place was next to her. He had to hold her hand. He had to make sure she knew he was there for her no matter what.

Three days and three nights he stayed by her side, refusing sleep or food, while he fought for her. Soothing her cries, drying her tears, cooling her face, comforting her in her deliriums, trying to ease her pains with caresses and kisses. And when, at the break of the fourth day, she opened her eyes again feverless at last, it was him she saw first.

She brought his hand on her ashen, bruised face.

"You are still here," she murmured in relief and fell back to sleep.

Nothing could be undone. Not the words, nor the actions or the sorrow they inflicted on one another. Yet, he knew that somehow, through pain, tears, guilt and apologies, they would find a way back to each other. For she was alive and breathing and past the danger and that was enough for the time being.

I was rereading my stories and other older stories and the idea for a series of one-shots formed in my head. They will most probably be short, just a tiny crack to a different outcome. I have no idea how many they would be. I have a couple in mind but not in paper. The above was stuck in my head all day and I just had to write it down. Open to suggestions, as always! Tell me what you think!

Until next time, stay safe and take care! xxx Chris