Your significant other, Derek, unlocked the door. The familiar click echoed through the apartment. The moment the door swung open, the weight of the day's cases didn't dissolve as it normally did.

Instead, it amplified.

In the apartment, a mixture of emptiness, pain, and loss was all Derek could feel since your miscarriage over the weekend.

It had been hell for you.

He stepped inside, setting his valuables on the table by the door. He locked the door behind him, took off his shoes, and walked in.

"Hey, baby," he called out, his voice gentle and laced with concern. He didn't expect an enthusiastic reply, but he had hoped for something — some sign that you were still there, able to fight the pain.

But...

No response.

Derek found you in the living room, curled up on the couch, wrapped in your favourite blanket. You stared blankly at the muted TV screen, with the cushions barely disturbed — indicating that you hadn't moved since Derek left for work that morning.

Derek's heart ached as he took in the sight of you.

He approached quietly, kneeling down in front of you and gently touching your arm. "Hey, baby," he said softly, "how are you doing?"