Wren
I stare into space, eyes blank but my heart…my heart is heavy.
I’d known even before I was rushed into surgery. I’d known my baby wouldn’t make it, but I hoped.
God, I held onto hope and I prayed…I really, really did.
Another tear spills from my eyes, across the bridge of my nose and it soaks the pillows.
And then, I hear the door open but I don’t turn. Not even when I hear the tentative tap of footsteps.
The bed sinks under the weight of the person, and when I feel a hand rest on my arm, I break.
It’s Ezra.
The sobs spill from my throat a little louder, the tears fall a little faster.
“I’m s-sorry,” I cry. “I’m so…so sorry.”
He gently squeezes me. “You’ve got nothing, sweetheart, nothing to apologize for.”
His voice is a thick rasp, hoarse, that shows he’s been crying.
