“Sunny,” he breathed, crossing the room in two long strides. His arms encircled her, strong and solid, smelling of ice and exertion. “What happened? Are you okay?”
She pressed her face into his chest, drawing a shuddering breath. “I started cramping this morning. Then spotting. The doctor says… the doctor says…” The words stuck in her throat, refusing to emerge.
Liam’s body tensed against hers. “The baby?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly.
Sunny could only shake her head, still pressed against him.
His arms tightened around her, one hand cradling the back of her head with such tender protectiveness that something inside her finally broke. The tears came then — not gentle weeping, but gut-wrenching sobs that doubled her over in his arms.
Liam held her through it, his own tears falling silently onto her hair. She could feel the rapid thudding of his heart, the slight tremor in his hands as they stroked her back, the careful way he supported her weight when her body threatened to buckle.
Dr Chen returned to find them locked in this embrace. Sunny’s sobs quieted to hiccupping breaths. With gentle efficiency, Dr Chen explained the procedure to both of them — a D&C to ensure all tissue was removed, preventing complications.
“It’s a short procedure,” she assured them. “You’ll be able to go home today.”
Liam nodded repeatedly, asking practical questions about recovery and follow-up care while Sunny remained silent. She recognized what he was doing — focusing on concrete details, things he could control. It was so characteristically Liam, using logistics to process overwhelming emotion.
The procedure itself passed in a blur of soft voices and gentle hands. Liam never left her side, his calloused palm wrapped around her fingers, anchoring her to the present when her mind threatened to float away. She focused on that connection — the solid warmth of his skin against hers — while doctors and nurses moved efficiently around them.
Afterward, the physical emptiness mirrored the emotional void. Sunny felt hollow, scraped clean of both life and hope. The pain medication dulled the physical discomfort but did nothing for the ache spreading through her chest.
“Ready to go home?” Liam asked softly, kneeling beside the recovery chair where she sat. His eyes were red-rimmed, deep shadows forming beneath them despite the early hour. He looked as devastated as she felt, yet he was holding himself together, staying strong for her.
Home. The Anderson house with its family photos and children’s artwork. The place where they had begun to build a future together. The thought of returning there — of resuming normal life when nothing would ever be normal again — seemed impossible.
But the girls would be home from school soon. They needed stability, routine. They couldn’t become collateral damage to this grief.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Let’s go home.”
The drive passed in heavy silence. Sunny stared out the window, numbly registering how the world continued its ordinary rhythm. People walked dogs, posted mail, laughed on cell phones — all unaware that inside this car, two people were drowning in grief.
Liam kept one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on her knee — a tenuous connection that somehow made the silence bearable. His knuckles were white with tension, jaw tight with words unsaid. Sunny placed her hand over his, feeling the slight tremor beneath her palm.
When they reached the house, Sunny hesitated in the driveway, suddenly reluctant to go inside. This morning, she had left carrying their future within her. Now she returned empty, diminished.
“The girls are still at school,” Liam said quietly, misinterpreting her hesitation. “They won’t be home for a few hours.”
Sunny nodded, finally allowing him to guide her inside. The house felt strange, almost unfamiliar, as if the morning’s events had altered its very substance. Had it really been just hours ago that she’d made pancakes in the kitchen, hiding her worry from the girls?
In the entryway, reality crashed over her with renewed force. A small pink backpack leaned against the wall — Hailey’s, forgotten in the morning rush. A math worksheet with Maddie’s careful handwriting lay on the side table. These ordinary objects, these remnants of the family life they had been building, broke something fundamental inside her.
“I can’t,” she gasped, knees buckling. “I can’t pretend everything’s okay when they come home. I can’t—”
Liam caught her as she collapsed, gathering her in his arms and carrying her upstairs to her bedroom. He laid her gently on the bed, then stretched out beside her, pulling her against his chest. Only then, in the safety of their private space, did he finally break.
His body shook with silent sobs, face buried in her hair. Sunny twisted in his arms to hold him properly, their grief mingling as they clung to each other. There were no words, only the shared language of loss.
“It’s not fair,” she finally whispered, her voice rough from crying. “We only had a few days to be happy about it.”
“I know,” Liam murmured against her temple.
“Why us? Hasn’t there been enough loss already?”
He had no answer for that, only the solid warmth of his embrace.
They lay together as minutes stretched into hours, drifting between devastated wakefulness and exhausted dozing. Occasionally one would break into fresh tears, setting the other off in a renewed wave of grief. It was raw, messy, and completely shared — the first experience of their relationship where no words were needed, no explanations required.
Eventually, the distant sound of the front door opening broke through their bubble of sorrow. The girls were home from school.
