She left the flowers behind.
And something else… something I couldn’t yet name.
That night, memories I hadn’t touched in years began to stir.
Flashes. Light. Voices. Pressure. Fear.
And then—nothing.
I called Jonah.
He answered quickly. Too quickly.
When I said her name—Alison—he went quiet.
“What happened the day Harris was born?” I asked.
“You had a difficult delivery.”
“Don’t,” I cut in. “Not that. The part you never told me.”
The silence stretched.
When he arrived, he stood in the doorway like he wasn’t sure he belonged there anymore.
Harris sat forward, elbows on his knees, watching him. I stayed standing. Sitting felt like surrender.
“Tell me.”
Jonah looked at the floor before he spoke.
“You lost a lot of blood. You were unconscious. They were trying to save you.”
“And the baby?”
His eyes filled.
“The baby… didn’t make it.”
Everything inside me went still.
No sound. No movement. Just a hollow opening where something should have been.
“No,” I whispered.
“I’m sorry.”
Harris stood up abruptly. “What are you saying?”
