They were hardly alive when they died, torn apart before they could draw a breath.
I never wanted a child. Never prayed for it. Not like this, but somehow I had latched on and clung to it as a final bit of happiness.
The physical pain hurt nowhere as much as the pain of loosing them. I know it's stupid, insane even, but for a moment I was happy with an idea.
And it was gone.
And it's all my fault.
