Drugs

Missing her

Meredith sat on the floor of her house, her back against the couch, clutching a worn leather photo album to her chest. The room was dark, save for the dim light of a single lamp casting long shadows on the walls. Her hands trembled as she opened the album, her breath hitching as she turned the pages.

There weren't many photos. Just a handful, taken in the precious few minutes she had with Alisha before they had to say goodbye.

The first photo showed Alisha swaddled in a hospital blanket, her tiny face peaceful, her eyes closed as if she were simply sleeping. Meredith's fingers hovered over the image, tracing the delicate curve of her daughter's cheek.

"You were so beautiful," she whispered, her voice breaking. Tears blurred her vision as she turned the page.

The next photo was of Meredith holding Alisha, her face a mixture of exhaustion and overwhelming love. A nurse had snapped the picture, offering it to Meredith as a keepsake, a way to remember the fleeting moments they had together. Meredith could still feel the weight of her daughter in her arms, the warmth of her small body against her chest.

"I wish I could've held you longer," she sobbed, clutching the album tightly. "I wish I could've given you a life, Alisha."

The last photo was the hardest to look at. It was a close-up of Alisha's tiny hand resting in Meredith's palm. Her fingers were so small, so fragile, and Meredith remembered how she had marveled at their perfection even in her grief.

The sobs came harder now, shaking her entire body. She buried her face in her hands, the weight of her loss crashing down on her. The pain was as fresh as the day she'd said goodbye, a wound that never fully healed.

Across town, at the office, Derek sat at his desk, glancing at his phone for what felt like the hundredth time. Meredith hadn't shown up for work, and she wasn't answering his calls or messages. It wasn't like her to disappear without a word, and his concern was growing by the minute.

He frowned, tapping his pen nervously against the desk. Meredith had always been private, but lately, he'd noticed something deeper—an unspoken sadness in her eyes, a heaviness she carried with her. He'd tried to ask, but she always deflected, throwing up walls he couldn't break through.

Unable to shake the feeling that something was wrong, Derek got up and headed straight for Richard's office. If anyone knew where Meredith was, it would be him.

Richard was reviewing charts when Derek walked in, his face tight with concern.

"Richard," Derek said, without preamble. "Do you know where Meredith is? She didn't show up today, and she's not answering her phone."

Richard looked up slowly, his expression unreadable. He set his pen down and folded his hands on the desk. "She's fine, Derek," he said carefully. "She just needed the day."

Derek's brow furrowed. "That's not like her. She would've told me. What's going on?"

Richard sighed, leaning back in his chair. He had known this moment would come, but he also knew Meredith's pain wasn't his story to tell. "Meredith's dealing with something personal"

Derek's concern deepened. "Personal? Richard, if something's wrong, I need to know. She's been... different lately. Sad. Distant."

Richard nodded. "I know you care about her, Derek, but some things take time to share. She'll tell you when she's ready."

Derek clenched his jaw, frustrated but unwilling to push further. "If you're sure she's okay..."

"She is," Richard said gently. "She just needs space today. Trust her."

Derek hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Alright. But if you hear from her, let me know."

"I will," Richard promised.

As Derek left the office, still uneasy, Richard sat in silence, his thoughts heavy. He knew Meredith was struggling tonight, reliving the loss of her daughter on what should have been her second birthday. He could only hope that one day, she would let Derek in, let him see the depths of her pain so she wouldn't have to carry it alone.

Back in her apartment, Meredith flipped through the album again, her tears falling onto the glossy pages. The grief was all-consuming, a tidal wave that left her gasping for air.

She clutched the album to her chest, rocking slightly as she whispered, "I miss you, baby. I miss you so much."

For two years, she had carried this burden alone, never telling anyone about Alisha, not even Alex and Christina at first. She didn't know how to share that kind of pain, how to explain the depth of her loss. So she kept it locked away, hidden behind a fragile mask.

And as Derek sat in his office, phone in hand, debating whether to call again, Meredith sat in the quiet of her sorrow, the weight of her secret finally too much to bear.