“Sorry, guys.”

A seemingly innocent sentence. But because of these words, I will remember a woman named Ashley forever. I knew her less than thirty minutes, but this woman changed my life.

CJ and I were expecting another baby, due in October, and we were over the moon about growing our family. MJ, being the only one who really understood, was ecstatic about another sibling.

Over the weekend, I experienced some spotting which in itself is not overly concerning, but I felt something was wrong. I thought it was mostly in my head considering a woman I know had gone through something similar quite recently.

CJ and my sister tried to keep me calm, maintaining everything was just fine. Even the doctor I saw this morning tried to convince me everything was fine. She tried to reassure me that although she couldn’t hear a heartbeat, she was positive she heard movement, so she sent me for an ultrasound just in case.

Enter poor, poor Ashley. I will always feel awful for her. The poor girl must have drawn the short straw to do my ultrasound today. The techs must have all know what was a possible outcome and I’m sure no one wanted me as a patient.

Well, Ashley found what we all hoped wouldn’t be true. There was no heartbeat. The only thing she could say was “sorry, guys” and then she made the quickest exit she possibly could.

As CJ and I waited for the specialist to talk us through our next steps, one of the things I couldn’t help but think was how awful I felt for Ashley. First, because who wants to have to deliver news like that ever, and second, because I will always remember her as the woman who told me my baby was dead and remember her for nothing else. And I feel sorry for that.

So today I joined one of the clubs no one ever thinks they will be a part of until they are. I am a woman who has lost a child through miscarriage.

No matter how many times I think that sentence or read it written here, it just doesn’t seem real. I don’t know if it ever will.