‘Will I be able to make her…’ Bette contemplated, ‘Will I be able to help her do so?’ 
 
Standing still in the room they’d shared, Bette was accepting of the fact that she didn’t have all the answers.  Not needing to.  She didn’t have to work through everything unaided anymore did she?  Because today, she was not alone. 

Tina was here.
 
With that sentiment she turned to make her way back to her early morning visitor.
 
—
 
While waiting, Tina sat in silence.  Although the situation posed disquiet to her equilibrium bordering on trepidation, the surroundings offered comfort. 
 
Her home.  Glancing about, everything was so familiar.  The selection of contents and arrangements made by her own hand, evidence of her touch.  The memory of wanting still fresh especially in light of constant remembrances. 
 
To be with Bette. 
 
Bodily.  The first night they made love. 
 
Mentally.  Embracing the concept of being together.  The idea of ‘our’. 
 
Emotionally.  Their dreams interchangeable. Inclusive of aspirations for a family. Forgoing a job and sacrificing one in favor of another in line with their aspirations of having a child.  Perhaps a step too far.
 
A child.  A reflection of her partner while her own blood coursed through him.  Who grew within then was lost forever.  Yet again her heart ached.  Cringing from the veracity of having initially rejected Bette’s heritage.  Then the unspeakable and unmatched loss. 
 
The pain was as present to her now as it was the day she heard those hateful words.  Ones no individual had control over.  A reality no one would ever be able to explain.
 
‘The fetus has stopped thriving.’  So factual.  So cold.  So…final.  Once again, the hurt throbbed.
 
She looked around, seeking solace in yesterday’s reminiscences in the house she loved.  That she’d been apart from for an extended period.
 
Her personal directive was clear after the almost blinding realization manifested in the exchange she viewed between her lover and another.  To get out.  To disappear.  In anger and with the misapprehension that leaving would distance her from the painful memory. 
 
Of Bette reaching for her.  That look.  Her smile.  Their touch.  The disaster thereafter. 
 
Tina shivered.
 
Consciously, she shook the memory away.  Instead Tina let the feeling of attachment to this house wash over her.  Along with other reminiscences that were just as vivid.
 
Quiet nights, speaking in hushed tones.  As if sharing secrets, things only they would and should know.  Words muttered in anger.  Knowing looks.  Affecting touches.  Silence borne of frustration.  Apologetic glances.  Loving smiles.  Tearful interactions.  Laughter.  Celebrations.  Friends.  Family.  Heartaches.  The iterations of the combinations encompassing these shared occurrences continued in the weeks and months between.
 
In this house she spent more than seven years building a life.  One that was contrary to core expectations of a more traditional outlook.  However, that didn’t matter.  Visions of juvenile expectations were markedly lacking after her experience of meeting Bette.  Falling in love.  Making a life with her. 
 
She just didn’t fathom the experience of having to live through it falling apart.  Or having to face its scrutiny and impending postmortem.
 
“So.” 
 
They both laughed.  Nervously. 
 
Tina expelled a breath in earnest.  The tension she felt in her stomach, heart and mind was impacting her thought process.  Being ‘ready’ didn’t mean things were going to be easy. 
 
How did one start such a conversation?  ‘Anything new?’ sounded empty. 
 
Certainly, other points of entry were afforded by benign topics.  Ascertain health.  Touch on the weather.  Latest movies.  Books read.  Friends.  Occupations. 
 
Instead, a directed question followed.  
 
Though spoken softly it reverberated in both women’s psyche.  It filled the space they occupied with emphasis.

“Why?”