The car pulls away from the hospital, and for a while, there’s only silence and then the tears come again.
I don’t try to stop them this time. They fall freely, my shoulders shaking as everything I’ve been holding back breaks loose. I press my face into my hands, sobbing as the pain rips through me again and again.
My baby… My baby is gone… it hurts so fucking much. After everything I’ve been through. After fighting Noah to keep him. After waiting for months for him and he is just gone. How am I supposed to live with this crashing pain? With this crashing guilt? How am I supposed to go home alone?
“Are you okay?” the driver asks gently after a while.
I nod even though I know he can see me.
“Yeah,” I lie, my voice barely steady.
He doesn’t question it, he just nods and keeps driving.
It feels like I’m being gutted from the inside. Like everything inside me died the moment I realized that he didn’t make it.
By the time the car pulls to a stop, my tears have slowed, but the ache in my chest hasn’t. It sits there, heavy and unrelenting, like something hollowed me out and left nothing behind.
I reach for my bag out of instinct, but my hands come up empty and I realize I don’t have anything with me.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, my voice rough from crying. “I don’t have anything on me. I—”
“It’s alright,” the driver interrupts gently, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it.”
I lift my gaze to meet his in the rearview mirror, surprised by the kindness in his expression. He offers me a small, reassuring smile.
“Just make sure you’re okay,” he adds, his voice soothing.
My throat tightens again, and I nod, even though I’m not sure I’ll ever be okay again.
“Thank you,” I whisper before pushing the door open and stepping out of the car.



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