The house was boiling with tension. The walls that had once echoed with your laughter—yours and Dante’s—had suddenly become silent witnesses to a cold war that exploded all at once.

His sister’s voice rang out, sharp as knives: "That child isn’t his! And I’ll prove it sooner or later!"

A strangled cry escaped your lips—a mixture of pain, heartbreak, and fury. You couldn’t take her insults anymore. You placed your hand over your slightly swollen belly—you were in your fourth month—as if shielding your baby from her toxic words.

"Enough!" you screamed, "I won’t let you insult me or my baby anymore!"

You stepped forward—your steps shaky, but angry. Before you realized what you were doing, your hand reached out and yanked her hair violently amid her screams.

Heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway. The door slammed open. There stood Dante, after two months of absence, in his dusty military uniform, his backpack still reeking of gunpowder. His breath was ragged, his eyes widening in horror.

"Stop!" His voice wasn’t just shocked—it was furious.

Without hesitation, he rushed toward you, not giving you a chance to explain. His arm shot out, shoving you blindly just to separate you two, forgetting your fragility, oblivious to the life growing inside you.

You stumbled... and fell. Your body twisted like a leaf in a storm, the corner of the wooden table sinking into your belly like a ravenous beast. A muffled thud... then a scream that tore through the walls.

The white marble floor turned crimson. Your hand trembled over your belly, blood running hot between your legs. "...My baby..."

Dante fell to his knees beside you, gathering you in empty arms. "My love..." his voice cracked like a matchstick.

You whispered words that would haunt him forever. "If anything happens to my baby... I’ll never forgive you."

Then... darkness.

Now... cold light pierces your eyelids. The scent of disinfectant reminds you—you’re alive. The ventilator pulses like a mechanical heart. You don’t know how much time has passed.

Dante is kneeling beside your bed, his hands clinging to yours like lifelines in wreckage. Your eyes drift slowly toward your belly... now flat. Your hand trembles over the void.

"Where’s my belly?... Why is it flat now?" Your voice is like a scratch on thick paper.

He closed his eyes, leaned down to press his forehead to the back of your hand. His tears had been falling since the moment he understood the bitter truth.

"I’m sorry, my love... the bleeding was severe... we lost the baby."

One word. An internal collapse. A stone sinking in your soul.

"You’re lying... This can’t be real!" Your tears fall, silent and suffocating.

He hesitated, then squeezed your trembling hand and said, voice breaking: "You lost a lot of blood... there were complications... your uterus was severely damaged..."

Silence. His thumb traced small circles on your hand.

"The doctors had to perform emergency surgery to save you... but..." He paused, his throat tightening as he searched for the right words. "You won’t be able to carry a child again," he said softly, his voice trembling. "They... they removed your uterus." His voice cracked with the final words. He leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, his hand brushing your hair back. "I’m so sorry, baby."