The Ex-Husband of Alice Langley

7

TAYLOR SWIFT
I walk inside the exam room, and my heart drops at the sight of Alice, tears streaming down her face. She sits on the edge of the exam table, her hands clenched in her lap as if bracing herself against the weight of her grief. In the corner, Hunter sits in a chair, his expression tense and conflicted, unable to comfort her while the emotional storm brews between them.

I race to Alice's side, her hand cold and trembling as I take it in mine. "What happened?" I ask, my voice low and soothing, desperate to anchor her in this moment.

She shakes her head, her eyes wide and glassy, unable to form words. Instead, she simply gestures weakly toward the ultrasound machine, the screen still flickering with images of what should have been.

"The babies?" I say, dread pooling in my stomach.

With a deep, shuddering breath, Alice finally manages to speak, her voice breaking like glass. "I—I lost a baby. One of them didn't make it." The words tumble from her lips, heavy with sorrow, and I can feel the sharp sting of her pain.

"No, no, no," I whisper, squeezing her hand tighter as if I can somehow hold her together with my grip. "I'm so sorry, Alice." My heart aches for her, for the life that was lost, and for the weight of guilt that I can see pressing down on her shoulders.

"I should have done something," she says, her voice trembling with anguish. "I was supposed to protect them. I don't understand how this could happen."

"Alice, you didn't do anything wrong," I say gently, my voice steady in an attempt to comfort her. "Sometimes these things happen for reasons we can't control. It doesn't mean you failed."

Hunter shifts in his seat, his brows furrowed with concern as he looks between us. He seems to be at a loss, struggling to find the right words to say. "Alice..." he starts, but I can see the hesitation in his eyes. This isn't about him right now.

Alice's eyes meet mine, and I can see the flicker of hope dimming in her gaze. "I wanted both of them," she whispers, her voice small and fragile.

"I know, sweetie," I say softly, my heart aching as I watch Alice sob. "But you're going to be an amazing mom to the one who's still here. One is better than nothing, right? You have to look at the bright side."

Alice's eyes, red and swollen from crying, harden at my words. She snaps her head toward me, her voice rising in frustration. "The bright side?  The bright side? I just lost my child!" She throws her hands up, her body trembling with emotion. "How can you even say that?"

"I know everything feels impossible right now," I say, my own voice faltering slightly, trying to keep calm. "But you're still having a baby, and you need to focus on that one."

Alice's face contorts with pain as she stares at me, disbelief flashing in her eyes. "So just move on?" she spits out. "Pretend none of this happened? Pretend I haven't been sitting here for over two months thinking I was going to have two children, two babies, twins? What, I'm supposed to act like this loss doesn't matter now?"

"That's not what I'm saying," I respond, sighing, feeling like I'm walking on broken glass, unsure of how to make her understand. "I'm just saying that—"

Alice cuts me off, her voice cracking under the weight of her grief. "It sure as hell sounds like you're saying, 'Well, at least you still have one baby, so just get over it!'" Her breathing becomes erratic, as if she's drowning in the emotion she's desperately trying to contain. "How can you even expect me to be okay with that?"

My heart sinks. I didn't mean to hurt her more, but everything I say feels like the wrong thing. I take a deep breath, trying again. "Alice, I'm not asking you to just get over it. I know you're devastated. No one's telling you to stop grieving. I'm just saying that you have to hold on to the fact that there's still a baby who needs you—who's going to need all of you. That's all I meant."