Do You Still Love Me When We Meet Again? (Aubrey and Damon) novel Chapter 168

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Chapter 168

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Damon’s voice was a low, tender murmur. “Aubrey, I know this pain is unbearable right now, but we’re still young. We’ll have plenty of time in the future.”

The moment the words left his lips, what little color remained in Aubrey’s face drained away, leaving her deathly pale. She bit her lower lip so hard she nearly drew blood, fighting to hold back the tide of grief. Tears flooded her eyes before she slowly turned her head to the other side, hiding her face from Damon’s gaze.

As she squeezed her eyes shut, the tears escaped, soaking into her pillow one by one. Beneath the hospital blankets, her hands trembled violently, her fingers clawing at the fabric of her gown.

It felt as though a heavy axe had swung down, splitting her heart in two, only for someone to pour salt into the raw, open wound. Every breath was like swallowing razor blades; the pain was so agonizing she felt she might suffocate.

Fragments of that long, haunting dream flickered through her mind.

The baby had tried so hard to crawl toward her, but she had been so utterly useless. She could still hear the infant’s wails–a desperate, helpless plea for

her to save them.

“Mommy, help me…”

Her baby must have been so terrified, so heartbroken.

With such a useless mother, the baby must have been so, so disappointed in her.

That was why the baby didn’t want her anymore.

The baby had left her!

Bree…” Damon braced himself against the edge of the bed, leaning in to look at her deathly pale face. He reached out, his thumb gently brushing away the tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. “Don’t do this to yourself. If you’re hurting, just let it out. Don’t bottle it up–you’re going to break if you keep this inside.”

Aubrey didn’t say a word. She bit her lower lip until the skin broke and blood welled up, but she still couldn’t make a sound.

There was a kind of agony that was entirely silent.

She wanted to scream, to wail, but the sound was trapped in her throat. It felt as if her chest were being ripped open, her lungs collapsing under the weight of a pain so intense she couldn’t catch her breath.

Her mind was entirely consumed by the image of her child.

She could see him so clearly–a beautiful, soft little thing with skin like new silk. He had Damon’s eyes; they were gentle and kind, crinkling into a sweet smile that felt like pure sunshine.

He was wearing a little red silk romper, with a traditional symbol of good fortune embroidered right over his heart.

Mommy…”

That tiny, innocent voice echoed in her ear once more.

Behind her closed eyelids, her mind was swallowed by a thick, suffocating grey haze. Through the fog, she caught another glimpse of him

This time, she didn’t hesitate. She threw herself toward her child with everything she had.

She ran to him, dropping to her knees and scooping him up into her arms, holding him as if he were the only thing left in the world.

His tiny hands gripped her shirt rightly as he tucked himself against her chest. He looked up at her with those wide, soulful eyes and broke into a joyous, beaming smile.

She smiled back, a wave of pure, blissful warmth washing over her as she gazed at the precious little life in her arma

The baby cooed and babbled, his tiny mouth moving as if he were trying to tell her his deepest secrets

She reached out to stroke his hair, which felt as soft as downy velvet. He seemed tired, his little eyelids fluttering shut as he nestled against her chest. Aubrey rocked him gently, swaying her body in a slow rhythm, lulling him into a deep sleep

Suddenly, Damon’s voice broke through the haze, raw and choked with emotion “Bree, please don’t scare me like this Why are you smiling? Why are you humming? If you’re hurting, just scream. Just cry it out”

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Aubrey’s eyes flickered open, the dream fracturing like glass.

She looked up at Damon, then frantically searched her empty arms. Where is he? Where’s my baby?”

“What baby?” Damon’s brow furrowed, his eyes swimming with terror and heartbreak.

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“He was right here. I was just putting him to sleep.” Her hands scrambled over the sterile hospital sheets, frantic. She threw back the heavy duvet, searching the empty space around her as if he might be hiding in the folds.

Damon caught her hands, pinning them down to stop her from spiraling. His voice was heavy with grief, yet forced into a desperate, grounding sternness. “Aubrey, our baby is gone. This is real, not a dream. Please, don’t do this to me. I know this pain is unbearable, but we’re still young. We have so much time ahead of us. We can have another baby later–one, two, as many as you want. Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you. Just come back to

me.”

The fight drained out of her instantly. Aubrey went still, her gaze fixing on Damon with a hollow, soul–crushing despair that made her look like a ghost of herself.

Apart from the tears she couldn’t control, she didn’t scream or lash out. But as reality set in, her heart began to throb with a relentless, rhythmic ache.

No one knew just how much she had longed for this child.

A baby that was hers–truly, finally hers.

Deep down, she had wanted a daughter. She wanted to pour every ounce of love she possessed into her, seeing the little girl as a version of her younger self. It was a chance to raise herself all over again, to heal the hollow ache left by the motherly love she’d never received.

That baby had become her entire world, her only anchor. From the moment she found out she was pregnant, every dormant maternal instinct had roared to life.

Back at the house, the baby’s clothes were all pink. She had hand–embroidered tiny animals onto every single onesie, along with delicate four–leaf

lovers and daisies.

Even the bottles were pink, and the little bowls she’d bought for future meals were decorated with tiny rabbits.

She had loved rabbits since she was a little girl, but her mother had always dismissed them as tacky and ugly.

She hadn’t even bought a crib.

She wanted to sleep with her baby, keeping her close until she was independent and no longer afraid of the dark–until she was old enough for grade school. Only then would they sleep in separate beds.

She refused to let her child grow up the way she had, with her earliest memories being the cold loneliness of sleeping all by herself.

When she was little, their old house had been cramped and suffocating. Her “bedroom” was nothing more than a windowless storage nook packed with unk and a tiny, lumpy mattress. At night, the sound of rats scurrying across the floor would fill the dark. She would huddle under her thin quilt, rembling with a primal terror, until she finally worked up the courage to drag her bedding into her parents‘ room, desperate for comfort.

Her parents only met her with sharp, biting words. They called her pathetic and told her the rats weren’t going to eat her.

They’scolded her for ruining their rest, reminding her they had to be up at dawn to work. “If we don’t work, you don’t eat,” they’d threaten, telling her to be “sensible,” to stop being a burden, and to grow up.

They didn’t even bother to set a trap or chase the vermin away; they just rolled over and fell back to sleep.

She couldn’t remember if she was four or five at the time, but she had been so desperate to be the “good girl” they demanded. Choking back sobs, she would drag her quilt back to that dark hole of a room and curl into a tiny ball in the corner. She’d pull the covers over her head until the air grew thin and heavy, eventually drifting off–either from the sheer exhaustion of crying or from the lack of oxygen under the stifling fabric,

That was how she grew up–spending every night paralyzed by fear, falling asleep to the sound of her own tears and the scratching of rats.

She was the kind of woman who was fragile enough to cry at anything, yet strong enough to endure almost everything.

Her baby was gone. By all rights, she should have been screaming, letting out a gut–wrenching wail of agony. But she couldn’t. The tears simply wouldn’t come.

They say a happy childhood is a sanctuary that can sustain you for a lifetime.

Looking at the wreckage of her life, she wondered–was her own childhood so broken that it would truly take her entire life to heal?

The doctor arrived and performed a thorough examination. He confirmed that her physical recovery was progressing well and told Damon he could finally breathe a little easier.

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But Damon wasn’t satisfied. He couldn’t shake the heavy cloud hanging over her, so he immediately called in her former psychiatrist.

The psychiatrist sat with her for a long time, the conversation stretching deep into the afternoon.

As she looked at Damon–haggard, worn down, looking as though he’d aged a decade in just a few days–her heart wrenched. The sight of him was almost too much to bear.

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