When I woke again, I lay still for a moment, lost. My hand drifted to my stomach. Just an hour ago, there had been a tiny life here, connected to me by blood and bone.

Now there was nothing.

"Linda."

My mother watched me with worried eyes. I managed a weak smile. "Mom, I'm okay."

I learned later that I'd been unconscious for two days and a night.

I reached for my phone. The call log was empty. Only my chat with James showed any activity—a few cold messages.

All sent this morning.

[Don't forget—three days from now, civil affairs office. Divorce.]

[Still not responding? You think ignoring me will change anything? Linda, this divorce is happening whether you like it or not.]

[Sometimes I really wish Delia and Charlie were my family. Charlie's been raised so well. I can't imagine what kind of person our son would've become with you raising him.]

I stared at those final messages for a long time.

Then, slowly, I typed: [Okay.]

I hit send. Without hesitation, I deleted his contact.

The hospital's fluorescent lights were blinding. Clutching the miscarriage report, I walked alone down the corridor toward the room where they kept what remained of my child. I needed to bring him home. Give him a proper burial.

The maternity ward was full of couples. Expectant mothers glowed with joy, their partners hovering close.

I held the small box in my arms, and it felt like my heart had been sealed inside it along with that tiny body.

"James, thank you so much for today." A sweet, honeyed voice cut through the air.

I looked up.

Our eyes met.

James was holding Charlie's hand. Delia clung to his arm.

Standing together, they looked like a real family.

James glanced at me, and his expression shifted. His gaze dropped straight to my flat stomach.

He strode toward me, irritation written across his face. "What are you doing here?"

Delia laughed lightly. "Looking for James? Oh, Linda, you really don't need to keep such close tabs on him. I just felt a little unwell, so he accompanied me to the hospital. That's all."

"Is this really necessary?" James's voice dripped with impatience. "Following me around like this? You're pregnant—you shouldn't be running around hospitals for no reason. Don't you know that's bad for the baby?"

His lip curled. "That child must have terrible luck to end up in your womb."

"Didn't I tell you? Our child was perfectly healthy. A genius, even—got into a top university at sixteen."