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As he stands in the doorway, he feels even more lumbering and awkward than he ever has before. He gestures vaguely and uselessly with his hands as he tries to get the jumbled words in his brain to come out of his mouth. There's so much he wants to say to her.
I'm so, so sorry, Martha.
I don't know why this happened. I wish I could tell you, but I can't.
I'm so sorry.
I love you, Martha.
After a minute of trying to get the words out of his throat and to his fiancée's ears to no avail, he hangs his head and stuffs his hands in his pockets. He's going to leave when her voice stops him.
"Stay."
Humphrey turns back, somehow rooted to the ground. He looks down at his feet to check if he has, in fact, taken root. He hasn't.
"Please," Martha's voice cracks with tears waiting to fall.
He makes his way to the bed— their bed— and slips under the covers. He wraps his arm around her, mindful of her stomach, and buries his nose in her hair. It still smells sweet like spring flowers. He kisses her hair, holding her in silence.
When Humphrey starts crying behind her, Martha closes her eyes. He's crying because of her, all because of her. Humphrey's an emotional guy, but he doesn't cry a lot. She feels immensely guilty that she's caused such a reaction.
I love you, Martha.
She moves her hand up to cover Humphrey’s on her shoulder. Humphrey is a tall man, anyone is small compared to him, but right now, she feels so so small. Like she would disappear if he holds her any tighter… which would be quite alright if you asked her.
“I love you, Martha.” It’s teary and quiet, but she definitely heard it.
And she still feels like crap, still feels awful, still feels like she’s the one to blame. But those words add warmth to Humphrey’s strong (but oh-so- gentle) embrace. She swallows the lump in her throat and gives his hand a squeeze.
“I love you, Martha. I love you. Always. No matter what.”
Another swallow and a brave breath in, and she tells him. “I love you, too, Humphrey.”