Three Little Heartbeats

Chapter 16: Grief and Guilt

Alexia sat at the kitchen table, staring blankly at the cup of tea in front of her. The steam curled into the air, but the warmth did nothing to thaw the coldness that had settled inside her. She had barely slept in days. Every time she closed her eyes, the same haunting thoughts filled her mind, echoing in the stillness of the night.

She couldn't stop thinking about the baby she had lost. The fragile life that had slipped away while she had been left to carry the burden of it all—alone. And the longer she thought about it, the more her heart hardened.

Where had Sandro been?

She had kept him at a distance, yes. She had her reasons. But where had he been when she needed him most? Why hadn't he fought harder to be there for her, to support her when she was carrying his children? The resentment that had been simmering beneath the surface for months now began to bubble over, fed by the grief she couldn't escape.

It had been a whirlwind romance, something that had once felt like fate. But when reality had settled in, so had the complications. Sandro's life was dominated by politics, by his role as a congressman in Ilocos Norte. His career had always come first, and while Rafhaela had tried to understand, had tried to support him, the distance had only grown wider as the weeks passed.

Sandro had always seemed so sure of himself—so confident in the path he was on. And in the beginning, Rafhaela had admired that about him. But now, it felt like a wall between them. His responsibilities, his ambitions—they had taken him away from her, from their children, at a time when she needed him more than ever.

She thought back to the early days of their relationship, how he had swept her off her feet with his charm and passion. He had promised her the world, made her believe in a future where they could have it all. But those promises felt hollow now. What good were they when he wasn't here, when she was left to face this pregnancy—this loss—on her own?

Her phone sat on the table next to her untouched tea, buzzing with yet another message from Sandro. She hadn't responded to him in days. What was there to say? She was angry. Angry that he hadn't been there when she needed him, angry that he didn't know about the baby they had lost, angry that she had to shoulder this grief by herself.

She picked up the phone, her fingers hovering over the screen as she read his latest message.

"I've been thinking about you. Please, let's talk. I miss you, Lex."

Miss her? How could he miss her when he hadn't even been a part of this pregnancy? How could he claim to miss her when he had chosen his career over their family, over her?

With a frustrated sigh, she slammed the phone down on the table, her anger finally boiling over. It wasn't fair. None of this was fair. She had been left to carry the weight of this pregnancy, the fear, the uncertainty, and now the grief—while Sandro had been free to focus on his career, his perfect public image.

If he had been here, maybe things would have been different. Maybe she wouldn't have lost one of their babies. Maybe the stress wouldn't have weighed so heavily on her, and she wouldn't have been so alone.

The guilt that had been gnawing at her since the loss of the baby now twisted into something sharper, more pointed. She couldn't shake the feeling that it was his fault. That if Sandro had been there, present, involved, things wouldn't have turned out this way. But at the same time, she hated herself for thinking it, for needing someone to blame when deep down, she knew that it wasn't entirely his fault.

Yet the guilt didn't stop the anger. It didn't stop the pain.

Later that afternoon, Alexia sat on the couch, her hands resting on her belly as the two remaining babies moved inside her. The weight of her grief pressed down on her like a physical force, but it was the guilt that consumed her thoughts. How could she go on feeling this way when she still had two lives to protect, two children who needed her strength?

But it was so hard. Every time she felt their movements, every time she looked at the ultrasound photos on the fridge, she was reminded of the baby who wasn't there. The one she had lost. And no matter how much she tried to focus on the future, on the lives she still had growing inside her, the shadow of that loss followed her everywhere.

Her mind drifted to Sandro again, to the image of him standing in front of a crowd, smiling for the cameras, shaking hands, delivering speeches. His life was so far removed from hers now, so distant from the reality she was living. He had no idea what she was going through, what it felt like to lose a child, to carry the weight of that grief while still trying to be strong for the others.

Part of her wanted to reach out to him, to tell him everything, to make him feel the pain she was feeling. But another part of her couldn't. She wasn't ready to face him, to hear whatever excuses or justifications he might give. She wasn't ready to forgive him for not being there, even if deep down she knew that it wasn't entirely his fault.

The rational part of her mind told her that Sandro wasn't to blame for the baby's death. Complications in pregnancy happened. But the grief-stricken part of her heart needed someone to blame. And Sandro, with his absence, his focus on his career, had become the easiest target.

The next day, as Alexia prepared for another doctor's appointment, the weight of her emotions felt unbearable. She hadn't spoken to anyone about how she was feeling, hadn't confided in her friends or her family. The grief, the guilt, the anger—they were all bottled up inside her, threatening to spill over at any moment.

She sat in the waiting room, her hands resting on her swollen belly, trying to calm her racing thoughts. The doctor called her name, and she stood, her legs shaky as she made her way into the exam room. The routine had become familiar by now—checkups, ultrasounds, monitoring the health of the two remaining babies. But today, it felt different. Today, the weight of everything she had been holding in finally became too much to bear.

As the ultrasound began and the two healthy heartbeats filled the room, Alexia's tears finally came. She couldn't hold them back anymore. She cried for the baby she had lost, for the guilt she couldn't shake, for the anger she felt toward Sandro, for the overwhelming loneliness that had consumed her these past months.

Dr. Patel noticed the tears, her expression softening with understanding. "It's okay to grieve, Alexia," she said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. "It's okay to feel everything you're feeling."

Alexia nodded, but the tears continued to fall. How could she explain everything she was feeling? The grief, the guilt, the anger—they were all tangled up inside her, impossible to separate. She didn't know how to move forward, how to carry on with the weight of it all pressing down on her.

"I just... I feel so guilty," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I should have done more. I should have..."

Dr. Patel squeezed her shoulder gently. "You did everything you could, Alexia. Sometimes, things happen that are beyond our control. It's not your fault."

But it didn't feel that way. It felt like her fault. And it felt like Sandro's fault, too. How could she not blame him for not being here, for not knowing, for choosing his career over their family? How could she not hold him responsible for the distance that had grown between them, for the fact that she had gone through all of this alone?

That night, as Alexia lay in bed, she stared at her phone, her fingers hovering over Sandro's name. She wanted to call him, to scream at him, to make him understand how much she had suffered without him. But she couldn't bring herself to do it.

Instead, she typed out a message:

"You weren't here when I needed you. I lost one of our babies, and you weren't here."

She stared at the words for a long time, her thumb hovering over the send button. But then, with a deep breath, she deleted the message and put the phone down. What good would it do to send it? What could Sandro say that would make any of this better?

The grief and guilt were hers to carry. And for now, she would carry them alone.