I lay there, broken, hollow, and numb, wishing for a force - any force - to wake me from this nightmare. But no miracle came. Only the cold, sterile hum of machines. Only the silence of a womb that no longer held life.
And with that spiral of negativity and the relentless tide of thoughts pulling me under, I turned away from him and looked out the window. The sun had risen - its golden rays stretching across the sky, painting the world in hues of hope and renewal. But for me, it was just light without warmth. Another day, another reminder that the world keeps moving, even when yours has stopped.
I closed my eyes, placed a trembling hand on my belly, and stroked it gently - out of habit, out of memory. But the silence beneath my skin was deafening. No flutter. No pulse. No life. Just absence.
I whispered a silent apology - not to the heavens, but to her. To the unborn soul I had carried with dreams and love. I'm sorry, I said in my mind, I'm sorry I couldn't protect you. I'm sorry I let you go before you could even open your eyes and see the world we were building for you.
In that moment, she came to me - not in reality, but in the fragile figment of my imagination. Her tiny fingers brushed my cheek, her innocent smile lit up her perfect little face. She was beautiful. She was ours. I leaned in, breathing in the imagined scent of baby powder and warmth, folding my hands in front of her, begging for forgiveness - for taking away her joy, her chance to be real, to be loved, to be ours.
And then I opened my eyes.