Lost Me Gained Regret

After what felt like an eternity of darkness, I woke up parched, but the relief that washed over me when I felt my baby still safe inside was enough to push me to sit up, reaching for a glass of water. That's when Christine burst back into the room, swiftly taking the glass from my hand.

"Let me," she insisted, her voice laced with urgency. "You stay put until Dr. Adams checks on you."

Seeing the worry etched on her face, and fearing for my baby's well-being, I reluctantly laid back down.

Christine returned with a glass of warm water, carefully adjusting the pillows behind me so I could sit up comfortably.

I couldn't help but protest, "You don't have to fuss so much; I'm not that frail."

But Christine fixed me with a stern look. "Don't pretend you're okay just for my sake. We've been friends for years; I know you better than that."

I took a sip of water, hiding the sorrow in my eyes, and changed the subject. "How's Greg?"

"Running a high fever, in the next room," she replied, curtly cutting off any response I might have had.

before because I know no words can truly share your pain. No comfort

feed you empty promises about moving on or not dwelling on it. But I can't stay silent

leverage, but you said it yourself-you want to keep her. That means you need to be there for her,

up. You don't have to cry,

in is only going to hurt you, the baby, and Greg.

breath, ready to continue her plea, raised my hand

yourself, not even

for you, risking his own health. He

to you, maybe it's a sign that this baby just wasn't meant to be

imagined Grandma leaving so suddenly.

taking care of

And now, with my baby on the line, I didn't have the luxury to grieve properly. Pulling myself out of the deep sorrow was no easy

I finally spoke,

fetched a wheelchair, noting my lack of strength, and wheeled