I Only Loved Your Brother

Summary

In the eighth month of my pregnancy, they cut the child out of me.

When the anesthesia thinned and my senses drifted back into the sterile white glare of the recovery room, my hands moved instinctively to my stomach. It was flat. Hollowed out. A scooped-out hollow where life had kicked against my ribs just hours before.

Damian stood at the foot of the bed, his tailored coat immaculate, his handsome face carved from stone. He didn’t ask about the pain. He didn't even look at the intravenous line dripping cold saline into my collapsed vein.