Book For Read
63
For the past two weeks, I had been a prisoner in this sterile hospital room, the white walls a constant reminder of the suffocating reality that had become my world. Today was the day they said I could finally leave, but the prospect of stepping outside these walls felt like stepping into a void-a world devoid of the life and hope that had been taken from me.
I had lost my baby-my precious, unborn child. The word “miscarriage” echoed in my mind like a relentless drumbeat, a word that held the weight of a grief too heavy to bear. I didn’t know how to feel anymore; my emotions were a chaotic mess of sadness, anger, guilt, and a profound sense of emptiness.
As I sat there, staring at the blank expanse of the wall, I felt like a hollow shell, as if the core of my being had been carved out. The room was suffused with an eerie silence, a silence that seemed to mirror the hollowness within me. I wanted to scream, to shatter the stillness with the force of my anguish, but even the sound seemed to elude me.
“Are you alright?” The nurse’s voice pulled me from the abyss of my thoughts. I looked up to see her standing there, a kind smile on her face as she placed a Nutella sandwich in front of me. The sight of the sandwich felt incongruous against the backdrop of my pain, a simple offering in a world that had been turned upside down.
I met her gaze with vacant eyes, my lips parting slightly as if I were about to speak, but no words came out. How could I answer that question? How could I convey the storm of emotions that raged within me, tearing at my soul like a relentless tempest?
The nurse’s kindness was a lifeline, a reminder that even in the midst of darkness, there were those who cared. She seemed to understand my silence, offering a small nod of understanding before stepping away, leaving me alone with the sandwich and my thoughts.Copyright Nôv/el/Dra/ma.Org.
I reached for the sandwich mechanically, my movements detached and robotic. The Nutella spread was a swirl of sweetness against the backdrop of my bitterness. I took a bite, the taste of it a fleeting distraction from the pain that had become my constant companion.
But even as I chewed mechanically, a voice inside me screamed with self-loathing. How could I eat? How could I go on living when my baby had been taken from me? I hated myself for every bite, every movement, every breath that I took. I wanted to punish myself, to bear the weight of my failure as a mother, as a protector of life.
The sandwich tasted like ashes in my mouth, a bitter reminder of the life that had been lost. With every bite, I felt like I was consuming my own grief, allowing it to infiltrate every part of me. But still, I continued to eat, as if this small act of sustenance was a futile attempt to hold onto the fragments of my shattered existence.
As I stared down at the half-eaten sandwich, a surge of despair welled up within me. I wanted to die, to escape the pain that felt like an ever-present shadow. But even that desire felt impotent, as if the universe itself was conspiring to keep me alive in the midst of my torment.
The nurse’s voice brought me back from the edge of my thoughts. “Is there anything else you need?” she asked gently.
I looked at her, my eyes hollow, and shook my head. There was nothing anyone could offer that would mend the rift within me. I was broken, irreparably so.
She gave me a sympathetic smile before leaving the room, leaving me alone once again with my anguish. The white walls seemed to close in on me, the emptiness of the room a reflection of the emptiness within.
I clutched the remains of the sandwich, my hands trembling. The tears that had been threatening to spill over finally fell, a torrent of grief that flowed unchecked down my cheeks. I hated myself for not being able to protect my own child, for not being able to spare them from this fate.
The pain was a vice around my heart, squeezing tighter with each passing moment. The room felt like a prison, a place where my agony was both contained and amplified.
Cher, Alex, and Ace entered the room, their presence a quiet comfort in the midst of the stark hospital surroundings. “It’s time to go home,” Cher whispered, her voice a gentle breeze that carried the promise of a new beginning. I looked at them, my heart heavy with the weight of the past weeks, yet a glimmer of hope flickering within me.
My eyes followed Alex as he methodically packed my belongings. The scratches on his face, the marks of my anguish, were fading, a testament to the resilience of both his skin and his heart. I felt a pang of guilt at the sight, the memory of my own pain inflicted on him weighing heavily on my conscience.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered to him, my voice barely above a breath. He turned to look at me, his eyes meeting mine, and he shook his head. “You have nothing to be sorry about,” his voice was soft, carrying a depth of understanding that reached into the core of my being.
Ace’s touch on my upper arm was both grounding and gentle, his presence a steady anchor amidst the turmoil that churned within me. “Are you ready to go home?” he asked, his voice a question that held both concern and reassurance. I nodded, my head a silent affirmation of my longing to leave this sterile place behind.
I was desperate to be home, to return to the familiarity of my surroundings, to escape the confinement of the hospital room that had felt like a prison for my emotions. As the last of my belongings were packed, we made our way out of the hospital, the sunlight streaming through the windows casting a warm glow that offered a glimmer of hope.
Sitting in the car, I looked out of the window, my gaze fixed on the passing scenery. The world outside seemed to move in a blur, a thousand thoughts and emotions swirling through my mind. The weight of the past weeks felt like an anchor, pulling me down into the depths of grief and confusion.
Why? The question echoed like a refrain in my thoughts, a plea to the universe for an answer that seemed forever elusive. Why did I have to lose my baby?