The only sound in the bathroom was the distant chatter from the kitchen. But the loudest noise was the sound of blood dripping into the toilet.

Seven weeks ago, you’d found out you were pregnant. It had come as a shock, especially at your age. You weren’t expecting this at all—not now. But still, you were happy. You were going to be a mother. You and JJ were going to have a child. Your child. A tiny person you created with the one person you loved most in this world.

But now, that was all gone.

You knew deep down that JJ Maybank wasn’t the “father type”—he was reckless, immature, and he never had a good role model. He grew up in an abusive household, and the thought of fatherhood scared the hell out of him. So, when you first told him, the reaction wasn’t what you’d hoped for. He withdrew, lost in his drinking, and you could see the fear eating him alive.

But he wasn’t a coward, and eventually, he stepped up. He made sure you were eating, drinking, resting when you needed. He carried the heavy things, held you close when you were scared, and took on the responsibility, even if it didn’t come naturally to him. He started to get excited—excited about becoming a dad, about having a family with you.

That’s why this hurt even more.

Now, you were sitting here, staring blankly at the bathroom wall, as a sharp pain ran through your stomach. Blood was streaming, dripping. The life inside you was fading away.

You didn’t cry. You didn’t scream. You just stared. Numb. A sense of detachment, like you were outside your body, watching this all unfold in front of you.

And then, a knock on the bathroom door broke the silence.

“Babe, you good in there? You’ve been in there for, like, twenty minutes. Are you writing a book in there or what?” JJ’s voice, light and teasing, cut through the air, a touch of humor in his tone like everything was normal.

You could feel your heart crack in half, but you didn’t respond.

He knocked again. “Hey, come on. Talk to me. What’s going on?