But even as I said it, it didn’t feel real.
My breathing got heavier. A strange warmth spread through me. I looked down slowly.
Red.
It was spreading through my clothes like ink.
“No… please no,” I gasped, clutching my stomach as panic hit me all at once.
A sharp pain tore through me, so intense I couldn’t even scream properly. My vision blurred. I tried to stand, but my legs gave out immediately, and everything tilted sideways before going completely dark.
When I opened my eyes again, the smell of disinfectant filled my senses.
Cold hospital air. White ceiling. Numb hands.
A doctor stood beside me, his expression heavy, almost reluctant to speak.
“Mrs. Caldwell,” he said quietly, “I’m very sorry… but due to severe stress and complications, the baby couldn’t be saved.”
The words didn’t fully register at first.
My mind went blank.
My baby.
Gone.
And everything else… still falling apart around me. Soon, the truth about everything would explode anyway. What was I even supposed to do after this?
Then the tears came—but slowly, silently, like I had no strength left even to cry properly.
The door suddenly burst open.