Anya’s POV
The grief that hit me that day still had sharp edges. I remembered clutching the hospital blanket to my chest, feeling empty, like a part of me had been ripped away forever. I hadn’t just lost a baby—I had lost a piece of my soul, a piece of hope that I had clung to for so long. My hands shook, and I hugged myself, wishing I could erase the memories, wishing I could stop the aching in my chest.
I tried to push the thoughts away, tried to focus on my breathing, but the pain lingered, deep and raw. My mind played the images over and over, like a cruel movie I couldn’t pause. My chest heaved, and tears slipped down my cheeks before I could stop them. I tried to wipe them quickly, but they kept coming, streaking down my face, leaving me feeling weak and exposed.
The sudden shrill
