'Pseudocyesis' working title

Pseudocyesis

The kitchen clock set into the stove top was digital, but it had cracked in the left corner so that the hour was indeterminable. The the L.E.D. minutes read :47. Marco had been sitting at the table clutching a mug of coffee in his tight fist for the past several hours, stirring absentmindedly with a plastic fork.
The funeral was to be held today, in just a few short hours. Her parents had organized it without consulting him. They'd never approved of him anyways.
Shortly after her announcement all those weeks ago, he'd envisioned finally being accepted into the family, a real son in  law, father of their first grandchild. Then he'd realized he'd have no need- he would have his own family- himself a dad, she a mother, of some beautiful child. He'd wondered who it would look more like, telling her that he hoped it would have her doll-like features.
She had first told him in tears, weeks ago, stammering out an only just comprehensible story about initial suspicions and fateful confirmations. Marco had cried too, overwhelmed with vindicated joy. He had hugged her, enclosing her in a solid embrace, and she had completely broken down.
For the first two weeks she had been a nervous wreck. She had jumped every time he touched her and stiffened every time he entered the room. Marco had supposed it was just a pregnant woman thing. She must be worried about the baby.
He'd suggested, with barely contained excitement, organizing a dinner with her parents to tell them their news, but was unbearably disappointed to hear that she'd already told them via phone. "What did they say?" he had asked. She'd turned back to the task at hand, washing dishes. "Congratulations."
Then, suddenly, for a brief period of three or four days, she had cheered up considerably. She would lean into his clutches, laugh at his jokes again, and would hum while she worked. The shift had occurred after she'd gone to spend a weekend up with her sister, so he had assumed that the sister, a doctor, had allayed some medical worry that had ailed her.
One night she had prepared a large dinner for the two of them. It coincided nicely with the night he had brought home a bouquet of poppies from the corner store. Over the main course, between shy smiles, he breached the necessary issues that they had as of yet overlooked. "You know, it might be time we thought about scheduling an appointment with a lawyer- you know, to write a will together. For the baby." She had struggled to finish the bite of fish she'd just taken, and gasped, turning pale, before rushing off to the bathroom and promptly vomiting, He called after her, worried, but she didn't respond. She'd curled up on their shared bed silently, leaving him to clean up the dinner.
After that, her anxiety returned, accompanied by insomnia and fits of crying. Marco had confided in one of his closest pool buddies, who, after friendly slaps and congratulations, assured him that it was just something that happened to pregnant women.
Marco's worries assuaged, he stepped back from the unbreachable women's world to observe, with only periodic concerns about the baby's well being. She had lost her appetite, so he would gently nudge her, reminding her that she had to eat to keep the baby healthy. He would urge her to go to bed earlier, and when she would finally settle into sleep, he would lay his hand on her stomach, imagining that he could feel the life beneath his fingers but knowing that it was still too early.
She overdosed on the expired antidepressants that Marco had only taken twice, years ago, but never removed from the cabinet. Marco had been given a cold, short call from her parents two hours after she had been declared dead at the local hospital. It had been a delivery man who had found her, a doctor later told him. The ambulance had come quickly to bring her to the hospital, and they tried to pump her stomach out, but it had been too late.
Marco's first question had been rushed and ridiculous- "What about the baby?" The doctor had looked at him strangely. "Ms. Jones had aborted the fetus five weeks ago, sir. I would assume she had told you, if not beforehand then after ward... Now Mr and Mrs Jones have taken care of all the paperwork, so you have nothing to worry about." The doctor had clapped him on the shoulder as he gathered up his clipboard and walked to the door. "I'm very sorry for your loss."
Marco had asked to see her body, but her parents had already had it moved for funeral preparations. It was a long walk from the hospital to his home.