Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Tori
A searing pain shoots up my back, like a hot poker to the spine that then radiates to my stomach.
I get out of bed, but my legs won’t carry me; the pain is too much.
I crawl to the ensuite and pull myself onto the toilet, the urge to go so strong.
When I pull down my pajama pants, I’m met with fresh blood.
The air leaves my lungs, and I have to hold on to the wall to steady myself as the room spins.
I let out a gut-wrenching scream because I knew what was happening; I knew what my body was doing, and I cry “no” over and over.
My mom, who’s stayed at my apartment since the funeral last week, comes barreling in, the color draining from her face when she takes in the scene.
“Oh, sweetheart, we need to get you to a hospital.” She falls to her knees and reaches for a towel.
“Mom, no, no, please tell me this isn’t happening, please,” I wail hysterically. My mom opens her arms, and I collapse into them, letting her take my full weight as the life that Trent and I made together leaves me.
After collapsing on my mom, everything became a painful blur, and I don’t remember much.
I heard the doctor say words like miscarriage, weeks ago, scans, tests, therapy.
But I couldn’t answer a single question, couldn’t accept what they were saying.
I just lay, curled in a ball on a hospital trolley, clutching my empty stomach and ignoring the world around me, trying to understand what was happening, how could life be so cruel.
They say lightning doesn’t strike twice, so how did this happen?
Trent was gone. My baby was gone. So why was I still here?
What was the point of me living if it meant doing it alone?
I didn’t need therapy, I didn’t need pills, I needed Trent.
I needed my baby. The baby I was sure was a boy who would grow to be every bit the image of his dad.
Who would play with trucks and jump in the mud and ride horses with his daddy on the farm we planned to build.
But now that is all a lost dream, and I am now forced into a living nightmare where they no longer exist.
A wave of pain slices through me, and I curl up even tighter, shedding silent tears into the sleeve of Trent’s sweatshirt as my body works against me and takes away the last connection I had to him.
My baby was gone. I’ll never get to hold them, never get to kiss their cheek, never get to feel their heartbeat against my chest, hear their giggle, or feel their tiny finger wrapped around mine.
It was just me now. But I think all three of us died that day, but for some reason, I’m the one still breathing.