"𝗦𝗵𝗲'𝘀 𝗮 𝗺𝗮𝗻𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗿, 𝗺𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸 𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗱
𝗠𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗻𝗱 𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗱, 𝗺𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗼𝗳 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲."
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Amara Hidalgo is a 20-year-old independent young woman with a sexual appetite for olde...
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Lola hugs me tighter as I place my arms on hers, enjoying the comfortable silence between us. Her hand threads through the strands of my hair, "Amara, you need to eat," her voice is low. I ignore her words and snuggle my head further onto the pillow taking one of my hands to place it on my stomach, rubbing it slowly.
Memories of the blood dripping down my legs rush to my head and I have to bite my lip to stop myself from crying again.
It's been four days since I've talked or seen Dario.
It's been four days since the shit show took place.
Four days since my......miscarriage. My eyes begin to water at the memory of the doctor's words when Lola drove me to the hospital.
......
"Ms. Hidalgo, I'm sorry to inform you, but you suffered from a miscarriage," she gently tells me and my throat runs dry.
Miscarriage?
That would mean that I was pregnant. No, that's not right.
"M-Miscarriage?" I clear my throat. "But, I'm on the pill. I couldn't have been pregnant," I shake my head in disbelief at his words. There is no way I could have been pregnant.
"The birth control pill is only 99% effective. Women are still likely to be able to get pregnant while using the pill," she informs me and I nervously bite my lip remembering that I haven't gotten my period for more than two weeks.
But I didn't think much of it because I took my pills religiously, especially since Dario and I have a lot of sex.
"H-How far along was I?" I stutter on my words, still feeling a slight pain on my lower stomach.
"It looks like you were about four weeks pregnant," she looks at the papers in her hand and I nod my head, my hand finding its way to my stomach.
I don't know how to feel.
I can't believe I was four weeks. I should have known something was wrong when my breasts felt overly sensitive.
I was pregnant with Dario's baby. I can't believe it.
"H-How d-did I lose it?" I quietly ask her, afraid of knowing the real reason of my...miscarriage.
Was it my fault? Can I not have children?
She notices the slight panic in my face and sits down on her chair, rolling it towards me.
"There are many reasons why a miscarriage may occur. In this case, the fetus was not receiving enough chromosomes to fully develop, resulting in a miscarriage," her face softens and I fidget with my fingers.
