you know samira shouldn’t be here.

especially after last night. she had been so convinced that she was finally pregnant, but when the two of you had actually done the test, she found that it was negative.

the twelfth negative in a row. a year of infertility.

samira was breaking, slowly. it was clear to you that she was struggling to deal with the infertility, the negatives. she was trying everything. supplements, diet. and it was breaking you, too. not only the lack of a child, but also the fact that samira was slowly losing herself in her anguish.

and last night was rough. she had cried before, but you had never known her to be as distraught as she was last night.

maybe it was the fact that she was so convinced it was positive.

maybe it was just the anger.

maybe it was all the emotions she felt releasing at once.

but it was probably all three. you both knew that.

you had told her to take the day off today, but she had insisted that work would be a good distraction, and you hadn’t wanted to push and argue, not when she was clearly already in a fragile state.

but as you catch glances of her in the er, you realise that you should’ve pushed harder. she looks out of it — like she’s running on pure spite and muscle memory rather than being present in the moment.

even robby notices shes off, and because nobody knows the two of you are struggling with infertility, you blame it on a stomach bug. it’s easier that way, and it helps to avoid painful and unnecessary questions.

but now, you were walking into the break room. she was sat there, stirring her tea.

you sigh and sit beside her.