Behind Closed Doors (New Version)

Chapter 95

Jenna's pov
(2 months later)

I'm standing in front of the mirror, dressed in all black. My hands are trembling as I adjust the thin black veil over my face. The room around me feels cold, empty, just like my heart. I can hear muffled voices in the distance, voices of people I know, people I love, but they're just sounds—no words that I can make out.

I know what's happening. I know where I am. But it's like I'm moving in slow motion, like I'm trapped in a memory that hasn't happened yet. I feel numb. My chest is tight, and my heart is pounding, but I'm unable to feel anything fully. I'm just... existing.

I look down at my swollen belly, now bigger than it's ever been. My hands are resting protectively over it, but I can't shake the feeling that something's missing. No, not something. Someone.

Liv.

She's gone. The realization hits me like a wave, and I can barely stand under its weight. I look back at my reflection, but I can't recognize the person staring back at me. My face is pale, my eyes hollow, red from crying. I've been crying for what feels like forever. And yet, the tears keep coming. They never stop.

There's a knock on the door, and when I turn to look, I see my sister Aliyah standing there. She looks at me with pity, with sorrow, and I know what she's going to say before she even opens her mouth. I don't want to hear it, but I can't stop her.

"It's time, Jenna."

I shake my head, my voice hoarse as I whisper, "No, it's not. I'm not ready."

But I don't have a choice. I have to go. I have to say goodbye.

I feel my knees buckle as the pain rips through me, but before I can fall—

I wake up.

My eyes snap open, my heart racing so fast it feels like it's going to explode out of my chest. My breathing is shallow, rapid, like I've just run a marathon. I sit up quickly, pushing the blankets off me, and my hand flies to my stomach, as if checking to make sure the baby's still there. My heart skips a beat as I feel the familiar flutter of kicks. The baby is okay.

It was just a dream.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to calm myself down. My head is spinning, and I feel disoriented, like I'm not quite sure what's real and what's not. My chest aches, and my throat feels tight. I blink, opening my eyes again, and glance at the other side of the bed, hoping—praying—that somehow, Liv will be there.

But she's not.

The bed is empty. Cold. Just like it's been for the past two months.

My breath hitches, and I feel the sting of tears building behind my eyes again. God, I'm so tired of crying. It's like I don't have any tears left, and yet they keep coming. I turn my head toward the pillow beside me—her pillow. I've been holding onto it every night, hugging it close to my chest, pretending that it's Liv. It's pathetic, I know, but I need it. I need something to hold on to.

I pick up her pillow and bury my face in it. It still smells like her—like that soft, earthy scent that's always clung to her skin. I inhale deeply, trying to find some comfort in it, but instead, it just makes me miss her more.

I'm wearing her favorite hoodie, too. It's so big on me now, with my belly sticking out more, but I don't care. I need to feel close to her in any way I can. It's like if I can surround myself with enough of her, I won't forget. I won't lose her completely.

But no matter how much I try, the house still feels empty without her here. It's too quiet. Too still. Every little creak, every noise in the night feels louder, more unsettling. And no matter how much time passes, I can't get used to it. I can't get used to waking up without her next to me, or going to bed knowing she's not coming home.