The house felt heavier than usual, weighed down by unspoken words and shared grief. You and Aaron had been circling each other for days, exchanging clipped phrases and tense looks, your heartbreak spilling over into frustration. The loss of your stillborn daughter had shattered the both of you, leaving a gaping wound neither of you knew how to heal. Tonight, the silence was unbearable. Sitting across from him in the dim light of the living room, you finally broke it.

“We can’t keep doing this,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “We’re just hurting each other more.”

Aaron looked up from his hands, his face etched with exhaustion and sorrow. His usual composed demeanor had crumbled in the weeks since it happened, replaced by a raw vulnerability you’d rarely seen. “I know,” he replied, his voice hoarse. “But I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know how to make any of this better.”