Werewolf Compilations novel Chapter 82

November 30th, 1991

I cannot leave my bedroom. I cannot face him. I have lost my baby. My baby has slipped between my fingers, leaving me forever, never to come back. I feel empty. James feels empty. He has tried speaking with me, but I have nothing to say. There is nothing I want to say anymore. The doctor says that many women have miscarriages and it should not stop me from trying again, but there is a cloud of discouragement over my head. It floats there, never to go away. I want my baby. Goddess, please. I need my baby.

December 1st, 1991

I feel sad today. I feel sad every day. I want my baby back. Please, please, Goddess give me my child.

December 5th, 1991

James says we can try again when I am ready, but I know she will take my baby again. She took my baby and I will never forgive her.

James tells me that I need time to heal. I love him. It is soon but I know I love him. He has hurt me, but I love him. Is that why she took my baby? Because I am a weak woman in her eyes?

I close the diary and regret having opened it in the first place. I get up from my bed and set the diary back on my desk, not wanting to think about Julianna's pain. I wish I could travel back and tell her that she doesn't have to be discouraged because one day she would have a son, one day she would have a child.

Since I have been home, bored and lonely, my daydreams have grown from wishful thoughts to intricate, imaginary parts of my life. Some of them are with James, and some of them are not. Those are the frightening ones, the ones where I am wrinkled and alone, sitting in this house day by day, never leaving, never dying, just existing with no purpose. No mother, no mate, no child to care for. Nothing. And I think about this often which causes me to scold myself for not making any friends. I should have sat with those people at the table or chatted with that possible Stacey more, but no.

My mother has been telling me about a boy she thinks I should meet. I told her off, angry, upset, flaming up to my room only to lock myself in and hide. The idea of meeting a boy makes me physically sick.