With Every Gaze And Touch...

Italian Interlude

A/N: Hello! I wanted to try something new, so I did. I got inspired by @/lalehbalefire (on twitter)'s breakdowns the other night haha. So I tried to write something a bit emotional. I hope I achieved it. Enjoy!

Positive.

I look at the white stick in my hand, frozen, as if someone had poured a bucket of ice-cold water on my head. The more I look and the more I see the faint line getting darker and darker. There is no doubt. It's positive.

I am pregnant. In Italy.

I fall down on my knees and smile. I'm pregnant. There is a tiny human inside of me. A bit of him and a bit of me. Then suddenly I break down in tears, not able to contain the feelings I have been bottling up inside for weeks now.

I've had my suspicions for a few days. I kept on falling asleep randomly, felt a few waves of nausea and threw up a couple of times. But I was so drawn by everything happening around me that I put it all at the back of my mind.

It's been almost a week since I've been in Italy, in Rome. I came to finish my last semester of university as I always wanted. I could feel my dream getting closer, and yet now I don't know how my pregnancy will affect it.

I have to tell Serkan about it. I know we didn't exactly part peacefully but he needs to know. He is the father after all. After everything he's been through during the last few months with his chemo and cancer treatments, I'm sure he will be delighted with the news.

I put a hand on my still flat stomach and smile through my tears. I can't believe that I'm carrying Serkan and my child, the fruit of our love. Our little miracle.

I get up from my position on the floor and go to splash some water on my face. I look at myself in the mirror and I see a glint in my eyes that wasn't there before. I can't help but smile. I am going to be a mother!

I quickly dry my face and go back to my room. I take my cellphone on the bed and start dialing the number that I know by heart. I call him by FaceTime, thinking that it's a better way of breaking the news to him and I wait with a smile on my face.

Voice mail.

I frown and look at the time: it is close to 5 p.m. over there. He must still be working so I decide to try later. But even after two unending hours and two other failed attempts, he still doesn't pick up.

I decide to try one last time. I am not smiling anymore and the tears start rolling freely down my cheeks in an inexhaustible flow. It rings once. It rings twice. Then nothing.

This time, I know he disconnected the call.

And with this call, he broke the last piece of my heart. I feel it shatter in my chest and everything around me crumbles. I barely feel the phone fall out of my hand as it starts shaking uncontrollably. He disconnected the call... He doesn't want to talk to me... He doesn't want me.

He doesn't want us.

I fall on my side, on my bed and I scream. A gut-wrenching scream that comes from the pit of my stomach, from the bottom of my shattered soul. I'm sobbing violently, shaking furiously.

He doesn't want us. He doesn't want us...

I keep on repeating it over and over and over in my head. I can't believe it. I don't want to believe it. After everything we lived, everything we endured, with a love as big as ours...

He doesn't want us...

"Dada! Dada n'oldu? Iyi misin? Dada!"

He doesn't want us...