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The searing pain in my arm persists, a relentless reminder of wounds that refuse to heal. A reminder that healing is an illusion, a cruel mirage.
Opening my weary eyes, I search the room we once shared. It has been two agonizing weeks since I left the confines of the sterile hospital walls, but it feels like an eternity since that unfaithful day - the day my precious child slipped away, oblivious to the world's cruelty.
Silent tears stain my cheeks as I scan the empty bed, knowing exactly where he is. Our lives have been ruptured, forever altered.
He tends to me like a fragile newborn, providing solace and comfort. Yet, unbeknownst to him, he wears a mask of strength, a facade stitched together for my sake.
And what have I become? A mere vessel of sorrow, a hollow shell. I see the pain etched into his every expression, hear the weight of his pain in every breath he exhales. But I am powerless, rendered incapable of easing his suffering.
Just as a semblance of normalcy began to enfold us, a shattered piece of my shattered heart arrived - the frame that once held the ultrasound of our unborn baby. It was meant to bring joy, I suppose. But instead, it only brought me closer to the abyss of grief, clutching it desperately to my chest as I wept.
But what tore my heart apart was the lifelessness in Maan's gaze. The sight of him looking at the frame without shedding a single tear was unbearable.
Our family was shattered, but they refused to show their tears in my presence, adding to the agony that consumed me. Their silent suffering was evident in their swollen eyes when they came to see me.
Faint sobs echoed from the balcony, and I instantly recognized the source. It was a sound that pierced through my soul, revealing the depths of their grief.
Summoning every ounce of strength, I forced myself to stand and made my way towards the balcony. With each step, a sharp pain coursed through my body, but I pushed through, knowing I had to be there for the love of my life.
As I reached the balcony, my shattered heart shattered even further at the sight before me. There he was, sobbing uncontrollably, clutching the tiny frame of our baby's ultrasound. It was a heart-wrenching scene that played out every day, leaving me utterly broken.
Gathering my courage, I quietly opened the balcony door and approached him. Unaware of my presence, he continued to sob, his words blending with his tears. I couldn't comprehend what he was saying, so I moved closer, desperate to understand.
“Maan.” I whispered, taking a seat beside him on the swing. My eyes fell upon the frame, and tears streamed down my face, silently expressing the pain within me.
It was the first time I had spoken to him of my own accord, as if breaking a barrier that had kept us apart. Until now, it had always been him who initiated our conversations. He looked shocked, and quickly wiped the tears from his face.
