Fetal Perspective

Ending 2 - Miscarriage

Today is different.

The world around me feels uneasy, as though something is shifting in ways I don't understand. Her heartbeat is irregular, not its usual steady rhythm. The warmth that cradles me is still here, but it feels... off. It's thinner somehow, less encompassing, and I can sense a kind of tension within her body that wasn't there before.

I stretch my legs, pressing against the walls of my sanctuary, trying to ground myself in this strange new sensation. My movements, which once felt playful, now feel heavier, as if something unseen is pressing back.

Her voice reaches me, softer than usual. It trembles, and I feel her body shake. She's crying. The sound is muffled through the layers that separate us, but I know it's her—her sobs rising and falling like waves, pulling me into their rhythm. My tiny heart beats faster in response, as if to reassure her that I'm still here.

But then, something changes.

It begins as a subtle pull, deep within her, followed by a sudden jolt that ripples through my world. The liquid that surrounds me trembles, and I instinctively curl up, seeking stability. Her body contracts, and I feel myself being squeezed, held tighter than ever before. It's as if the very walls that once protected me are now working against me.

I push back, kicking and stretching with every bit of strength I have, but the pressure doesn't stop. It grows stronger, more insistent, each wave pressing me downward. Her heartbeat races now, pounding erratically, and her breathing becomes labored. I feel her body move, sudden shifts and jerks that make my world tilt and spin.

The warmth begins to fade.

A coldness seeps into my sanctuary, and I feel it enveloping me, stealing the comfort I've always known. The fluid that once cradled me feels thinner, its buoyancy fading. I twist and turn, desperate to hold onto the connection we share, but the pressure is relentless.

Then comes the pain.

It's sharp and unfamiliar, radiating through my tiny body as I'm pushed downward, closer to an unknown abyss. My movements slow, each one more difficult than the last. The walls around me tighten, and I can feel her body convulsing, forcing me out of the only world I've ever known.

Her sobs grow louder, more desperate. There's a heaviness in her voice, a sorrow so profound that it shakes me to my core. I want to reach out to her, to tell her I'm still here, but I don't know how. My kicks are weak now, my arms barely able to move.

The light is blinding when it comes, piercing through the darkness and flooding my world. I am being pulled away, dragged from the warmth of her body into a space that feels cold and alien. I try to hold on, to stay connected to her heartbeat, her voice, her love, but the pull is too strong.

And then, I am free.

The cold air stings me, and I feel myself suspended, disconnected from the life we shared. I am small, fragile, and the world around me is loud and chaotic. I sense her anguish, her cries filling the space as she realizes what has happened.

I am here, but I am not.

My body is too small, too delicate to survive in this vast and unforgiving world. I am still tethered to her in spirit, though the physical connection that bound us is severed. I feel her hands as they cradle me, her warmth returning for a brief, fleeting moment. Her tears fall onto me, each one carrying her sorrow, her love, her grief.

I wish I could tell her it's okay. That I felt her love, even in the moments when she doubted herself. That I knew she tried, that she fought for me. That even now, as I slip away, I am grateful for the time we shared.

Her voice trembles as she speaks to me, words I can't fully understand but feel in the depths of my being. I hear her apology, her promises, her love, and it fills the void that has opened within me.

My heartbeat slows, each beat weaker than the last. The world fades, the sounds and sensations growing distant. But I am not afraid. I carry her love with me, a light that will guide me wherever I go.

And as the darkness takes me, I hope she feels it too—the bond we shared, the life we created together, however brief.