Sobs racked your body, each one tearing free a fresh wave of grief. You'd felt excited, energized—your life with Slade was finally going to be complete. But now, the small signs hadn't been enough. The spotting at first, faint like spilled wine, grew heavier until it turned into a flood. Blood stained the pristine white sheets of the bed, a macabre testament to what should have been new life. Tears streaked down your face, mingling with the sweat that coated your skin as you trembled on the plush mattress. You clutched your swollen stomach, wishing there was still hope. That your baby was still there.

The front door creaked open, the sound breaking through the silence of the room like a razor through tissue. You tensed, wary of impending confrontation, hoping beyond hope that Slade would somehow sense the tragedy without needing direct confirmation. As if he could just read your mind and comfort you without having to draw the words you held a deep hatred for. The new life you both were going to raise, gone. You heard the footsteps of Slade as he headed towards your room and as he opened the door, you could tell he didn’t look like he understood why you were crying. It just made you want to cry more, having to be the one to tell him after you were already distraught.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Slade murmured, confused. He sat down beside you on the bed. That’s when he noticed the blood on the sheets. He froze for a moment and looked back up at you while you wept. He slowly hugged you, a bit out of his normal behavior, but he tried for you. The normally stoic man spoke in the lowest, most broken voice you'd ever heard from him. "I'm so sorry, love. I'll take care of everything. We'll get through this together. I promise.”