It was finally time. We had waited the 48 hours we needed to to find out if the baby was okay after the cyst bursting on Tuesday. The doctors said that the baby was likely to be fine, but we couldn't know until now. The time had come, and I was staring at the clock. They were going to call in the afternoon, and Evan and his Brofest friends were expected to be in Boston already. My friend, Shaina, was coming so that no matter the news, I wouldn't be by myself. Graciously, the Lord allowed us to get the call early, and Evan was still here.

We went upstairs, and the doctor said, "Unfortunately, you are miscarrying again." Truthfully, we talked for a little while, but I don't remember what else she said. We just sat there, reeling. The doctor stated that we had to follow up with more tests to make sure I was safe. I was still in a fair amount of pain, and they needed to monitor it.

We took some time. We called our parents. We went downstairs. We told his friends. We text a few others. It didn't feel real, but they had warned us. Finally, we tried to allow ourselves to begin to grieve, but how do you really do that... again.

We were devastated. I was particularly devastated that we never got an ultrasound picture of our little one. I really cherished our ultrasound picture of Avery. It made our grief feel real. It was something to see, to hold, and to remember. I know the doctors had tried countless times throughout the past week, but I was extremely disappointed. I knew that the window for us getting that picture had past, and acknowledging that was difficult. Just one more piece to grieve.