hell or flying | Chaelisa

Chapter 30

The next few hours passed in a blur.

It's like I wasn't even present. The only memory I could recall clearly was before we arrived at the hospital before I even stepped foot into the gynecologist's office. It felt as if I was drunk or high, in a complete daze. Everything was happening so fast, and yet it felt like I wasn't involved at all. Like all this didn't concern me, and I was just a spectator of my own life.

Since those words left the older man's mouth, it's like I tuned out the rest of the world, and the more time passed, the more of a distant memory it became. One that felt more like a nightmare rather than reality. It was like when you wake up and you remember what you dreamt about so clearly, but with each passing second the lines begin to blur and you're left with only the feeling of familiarity, though even that fades into the distance.

I couldn't speak. Hell, I could barely breathe. My mind was in overdrive, trying to process the information. But what was there to process. There was nothing left. The only thing I had was taken from me. The one thing, no, the one person who made me happy and kept me steady was gone. My baby girl was gone. Irrevocably out of reach. I would never get to meet her.

She was gone, and I would never get to see her smile. I would never hear her laugh or cry. My eyes wouldn't watch her grow up, each day taking a few more steps towards her future. I wouldn't witness her speaking her first words and reaching for me with her little fingers wrapping around mine. I wouldn't get to watch her fall asleep at night in her crib, gently playing with the soft strands of hair growing on her scalp like silk.

Dressing her, holding her; I wouldn't know how either felt. I didn't know what her tummy looked like. I never saw her eyes open. I would never know what she smelled like. No, she was gone. And I wouldn't experience any of those things now. I lost her.

I didn't even have a name. She was just my baby girl, waiting to be born into a world that was not ready for the storm she'd bring with her. I knew she would be strong and independent, I would make sure she would be. Maybe it was a thing mothers felt, but I knew that despite everything, she would make the world bow to her once her time came. That the little girl I would watch grow up, as I'd cradle her in my arms, would become an incredible woman.

But now, she would never get the chance to. The opportunity was taken from her, from the both of us. And now, I had nothing left. For the first time since the pregnancy, I was truly alone. She was the only thing that gave me hope, that kept me from losing my mind and going on despite all the circumstances, and still, she couldn't. She couldn't keep going. No matter how much I tried to protect her, it wasn't enough and now she paid the price. I wasn't strong enough for my daughter, and I was no longer strong for myself.

I lost the last thing that mattered to me. Even with all my efforts and sacrifices, she was still taken from me before I even got the chance to meet her. But perhaps it was better that way. I couldn't have imagined what it would feel like to lose her once I'd hold her small body, cradling it in my arms and watching her little face relax as she'd stare back at me. If this was what it felt like losing her without ever having the chance to meet her in the first place, I didn't even want to think about what it would be like after seeing her little chest rise with every breath.

And though we might not have officially met, it still felt like we did. I still felt like I knew her before she could even know herself. Perhaps it was a motherly instinct, the connection a mother shared with her child. Because even if I might not have seen her, I felt her loss and the devastation tremendously.

Yet, I didn't cry. I didn't shed a single tear when I found out the news. Rather, my expression turned blank, and I stared at the wall in front of me, not reading any of the words across his diplomas but trapped in my own head, screaming at me that this was all my fault. Because it was. I was a terrible mother before I could really even become one. I failed at the one thing I was supposed to do; I failed to protect my child.