*trigger warning: loss*
There were things that she was afraid of, things that she would write down in the cracks between her skin to hide them. so the world couldn't see. Of all those things, lipstick collars and too tight fat jeans, this was the worst thing she could have ever imagined.
"I'm sorry," the nurse said scanning the wand with her white gloved hand over her belly.
The screen was black and gray and her heart was made of stone. Two days ago she had seen the beating heat and the waving arms and legs. She could feel the flutter of those limbs deep with in her when she lay very still. She was out of the woods. That's the way it was supposed to be. She wasn't supposed to lose her baby at nineteen weeks. She wasn't supposed to lose her baby at all.
It was a girl. Her very own daughter, the prize of her womanhood. They would name her Cecelia Rose and she had picked out soft pinks and lilacs for the nursery. Her grandmother gave her the dress that she had been baptized in, faded from white to ivory over the years.
And then she started to bleed.
Just a little at first. She googled "second trimester spotting" and tried to calm her frantic brain. But the blood kept coming and then the pain. Her husband rushed her to the ER while she poured the salt from her eyes onto the soft blanket she had knitted, the blanket for the baby that would never be.
"Cecelia," she whispered as she clutched her swollen and empty belly, and wondered how the nights would turn to days without the flutter of movement within her. She had failed, as a woman, as a mother. God had designed her to bear children and she had failed him. A broken thing, she cast herself aside. Cecelia...