Emma woke from the D&C procedure to find Alexander gone.
A nurse was checking her vitals, her expression professionally sympathetic. "Your husband stepped out about twenty minutes ago. He said he needed air."
Emma nodded numbly. She understood. The hospital room smelled like antiseptic and loss. The air felt suffocating.
But lying there alone, her body empty, her arms aching for a baby she'd never get to hold again—Emma felt the full weight of it crash down.
Sarah was gone.
The pregnancy was over.
And Emma had failed.
She turned her face to the pillow and cried—silent, wrenching sobs that shook her entire body. The nurse quietly left, giving her privacy to fall apart.
Emma cried until she had no tears left. Then she just lay there, staring at the wall, feeling hollow.
An hour passed. Then two.
Alexander didn't return.
Emma's phone buzzed. Maya.
Em, I just heard. I'm on the next flight. I'll be there in four hours. I'm so, so sorry.
