The first thing I felt was pain—deep, radiating pain that left me breathless. My eyes fluttered open to the sight of bright fluorescent lights, and for a moment, I couldn’t remember where I was or why I felt so heavy, so empty.
“Emma,” my mom’s soft voice broke through the haze.
I turned my head slowly, seeing her sitting in the chair beside my hospital bed. Her hands were clasped tightly, her face pale and lined with worry. My dad stood behind her, his arms crossed, his face unreadable but his eyes filled with something I couldn’t name.
“You’re awake,” my mom said, her voice trembling. She leaned forward, brushing a strand of hair from my face.
I tried to speak, but my throat felt like sandpaper. My dad quickly poured water into a cup and held it to my lips. I sipped slowly, the coolness soothing but not enough to ease the weight pressing down on my chest.
“What happened?” I croaked, though deep down, I already knew.
My mom’s expression crumbled, tears pooling in her eyes. She glanced at my dad, who took a deep breath before stepping closer.
“Sweetheart,” he began, his voice gentle but firm. “You... you lost the babies.”
The words hit me like a blow, stealing the air from my lungs.
“You lost a lot of blood,” my mom added, her voice breaking. “It was a miscarriage.”
My hands trembled as they clutched the blanket around me, my body still aching, still empty. Suddenly, the memory of last night with Logan crashed into me like a tidal wave..
A sob threatened to choke me. Was that the moment it happened?
I replayed it all in my mind, searching for signs, for warnings I might have missed. The whiskey. That one night with Logan. How stupid was I to let my emotions forget that I was carrying a baby?
Now, my babies are gone.
Tears burned in my eyes as a horrifying thought crept in – What if the way I had clung to Logan, the way I had begged for more, had been the final push that ended it all?
A choked sound escaped my throat, and I covered my mouth, trying to keep the sobs inside.
I wanted to believe my dad. I wanted to believe this wasn’t my fault.
But deep down, I wasn’t sure I ever would.
Hours later, when the room was quiet and my parents had stepped out for a moment, I stared at the ceiling, my thoughts swirling.
I hadn’t even been ready for those babies. I hadn’t been happy about the pregnancy—terrified, unsure, even resentful at times. But now that they were gone, the loss felt so profound, so consuming.
It wasn’t just the physical pain; it was deeper than that, a hollow ache that stretched into my soul.
“I never wanted this,” I whispered to the empty room, tears streaming down my face. “But I never wanted this either.”
The words left my lips like a confession, like they held the weight of everything I’d been avoiding. The grief swelled, an unstoppable tide, but beneath it, something else gnawed at me.
Caleb.
A wave of unease tightened in my chest. I hadn’t seen him. Not since… everything.
I turned my head toward the nightstand, reaching for my phone. My fingers trembled as I unlocked it and scrolled through my recent calls. Nothing from him. No messages, no missed calls. Nothing.
I clicked his contact and pressed call, bringing the phone to my ear.
One ring. Two. Three.
It went to voicemail.
My heart sank. Where was he?
I tried to tell myself it made sense—maybe he needed space, maybe he was processing all of this in his own way—but the longer I stared at my phone, the more the silence weighed on me. Caleb wasn’t the type to just disappear. He should have been here. He should have called.
Unless… he was hurting in ways I hadn’t even considered.
A sudden, terrifying thought hit me: What if he blamed himself?
What if he thought I blamed him?
The idea lodged itself in my mind, refusing to let go. Caleb had been there through so much, trying to do the right thing. I pressed call again.
Voicemail.
“I never wanted this,” I whispered to the empty room, tears streaming down my face.
The thought of someone else going through this—through this pain, this guilt, this loss—made my chest tighten.
No one should feel like this.
The words echoed in my mind, and suddenly, something shifted.
I can stop this from happening to someone else.
I swallowed hard, my hand trembling as I brushed away the tears on my cheeks. The chaos of the last few months—the lies, the heartbreak, the fear—it all felt meaningless now. I didn’t want to live like that anymore. I didn’t want to be caught in the mess, spiraling out of control.
I’m done with this mess.
A single, clear thought rose above the storm in my mind.
I won’t let anyone suffer like this, I will save as many lives as I can. I will be a doctor.
The idea had always been there, lingering in the back of my mind, but now it felt like more than just a dream. It felt like a purpose. If I could help even one person avoid this pain, it would be worth it.
I’m going to college, I thought, determination settling over me like a blanket. I’m going to make this right.
A knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts. A nurse stepped in, carrying a massive bouquet of roses—my favorite.
“These are for you,” she said with a kind smile, setting the vase on the bedside table.
I stared at the flowers, my chest tightening. Who had sent them?
Before I could dwell on it, another knock sounded at the door.
“Come in,” I called weakly, my voice trembling.
The door opened, and Logan stepped inside. His face was a mix of worry and exhaustion, his blue eyes soft as they landed on me.
“Hey,” he said quietly, stepping toward the bed.
I tried to sit up, but the pain shot through me, and I winced.
“Don’t stand,” Logan said firmly, rushing to my side. He gently pushed me back against the pillows, his touch careful and steady. “You need to rest.”
Logan stayed by my side, his hand never leaving mine. For the first time in what felt like forever, I allowed myself to feel the faintest flicker of hope.