The next few hours passed in a blur.
It's like I wasn't even present. The only memory I could recall clearly was before we arrived at the hospital before I even stepped foot into the gynecologist's office. It felt as if I was drunk or high, in a complete daze. Everything was happening so fast, and yet it felt like I wasn't involved at all. Like all this didn't concern me, and I was just a spectator of my own life.
Since those words left the older man's mouth, it's like I tuned out the rest of the world, and the more time passed, the more of a distant memory it became. One that felt more like a nightmare rather than reality. It was like when you wake up and you remember what you dreamt about so clearly, but with each passing second the lines begin to blur and you're left with only the feeling of familiarity, though even that fades into the distance.
I couldn't speak. Hell, I could barely breathe. My mind was in overdrive, trying to process the information. But what was there to process. There was nothing left. The only thing I had was taken from me. The one thing, no, the one person who made me happy and kept me steady was gone. My baby girl was gone. Irrevocably out of reach. I would never get to meet her.
She was gone, and I would never get to see her smile. I would never hear her laugh or cry. My eyes wouldn't watch her grow up, each day taking a few more steps towards her future. I wouldn't witness her speaking her first words and reaching for me with her little fingers wrapping around mine. I wouldn't get to watch her fall asleep at night in her crib, gently playing with the soft strands of hair growing on her scalp like silk.
Dressing her, holding her; I wouldn't know how either felt. I didn't know what her tummy looked like. I never saw her eyes open. I would never know what she smelled like. No, she was gone. And I wouldn't experience any of those things now. I lost her.
I didn't even have a name. She was just my baby girl, waiting to be born into a world that was not ready for the storm she'd bring with her. I knew she would be strong and independent, I would make sure she would be. Maybe it was a thing mothers felt, but I knew that despite everything, she would make the world bow to her once her time came. That the little girl I would watch grow up, as I'd cradle her in my arms, would become an incredible woman.
But now, she would never get the chance to. The opportunity was taken from her, from the both of us. And now, I had nothing left. For the first time since the pregnancy, I was truly alone. She was the only thing that gave me hope, that kept me from losing my mind and going on despite all the circumstances, and still, she couldn't. She couldn't keep going. No matter how much I tried to protect her, it wasn't enough and now she paid the price. I wasn't strong enough for my daughter, and I was no longer strong for myself.
I lost the last thing that mattered to me. Even with all my efforts and sacrifices, she was still taken from me before I even got the chance to meet her. But perhaps it was better that way. I couldn't have imagined what it would feel like to lose her once I'd hold her small body, cradling it in my arms and watching her little face relax as she'd stare back at me. If this was what it felt like losing her without ever having the chance to meet her in the first place, I didn't even want to think about what it would be like after seeing her little chest rise with every breath.
And though we might not have officially met, it still felt like we did. I still felt like I knew her before she could even know herself. Perhaps it was a motherly instinct, the connection a mother shared with her child. Because even if I might not have seen her, I felt her loss and the devastation tremendously.
Yet, I didn't cry. I didn't shed a single tear when I found out the news. Rather, my expression turned blank, and I stared at the wall in front of me, not reading any of the words across his diplomas but trapped in my own head, screaming at me that this was all my fault. Because it was. I was a terrible mother before I could really even become one. I failed at the one thing I was supposed to do; I failed to protect my child.
All my efforts were in vain because, in the end, her little heart stopped beating before she could see the light of day. And I didn't know what to do. Not anymore. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. So many times I wished I would just die. And despite my efforts, it never seemed to work out in my favor. Yet, the pure little being that didn't do anything to anyone, the one thing I could be proud of and love freely, the one thing that was innocent in a world ruled by chaos, was taken.
It should've been me. I should've died before I even got the chance to get pregnant. I should have killed myself, so she wouldn't have to die. She, who did no wrong; hurt no one. She who deserved to live. I was supposed to die, not her. It was me whose heart was supposed to stop beating.
Life wasn't fair. It was cruel and merciless. There are so many bad things, bad people in the world, yet it chose to take the life of someone so pure and so innocent. Someone who didn't even get the chance to experience life. It wasn't fair.
And though everything felt like I was simply looking at it from the third perspective, pushing her out was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. Pushing out and "giving birth" to a baby that was no longer alive. My baby. It broke me. Something inside me broke, something in my heart, and I felt it ripping to shreds. The pain was excruciating, something beyond comprehension, something words could never even begin to describe.
It's like a part of me was extracted from me. I was filled with pregnancy hormones, readying me to carry a child, to nourish it, watch it flourish, and enter the world. I had one job, grow the baby. And I failed. Suddenly, she was gone. Yet, I was emotionally numb.
I still had my bump, but it was dead now. I still felt as if my baby was moving around, even after it had died. It was floating around in there in the amniotic fluid. I still felt the swishes and swirls of that movement. Maybe that's why I didn't cry. Why I didn't thrash around in complete heartbreak and devastation. Because perhaps my body and my mind didn't get the memo yet.
But my heart did. It was wrenching in my chest as I saw her. Saw the perfect baby girl in the midwife's arms. It wrenched as I watched her clean her and dress her up in the clothes they had, placing her limp body into a Moses basket. And I just stared at her, trying to memorize every feature, but I couldn't hold her. It felt too painful. She was so small.
Normally, after saying goodbye, one would leave the hospital. But I was in no state to move. I don't know how it happened, whether Chanyeol made some arrangements, but I was taken to a vacant room afterward, where I sat on the bed and faced the window. That's all I did; look outside and watch the birds fly past the glass, landing on branches of the nearby trees.
I wanted to go home. I didn't want to spend another minute at the hospital. But where even was my home? As far as I was concerned, I didn't have one. There was no place I would feel safe and comfortable in. There was only one place that could make me feel that way, and she wasn't here.
Chanyeol disappeared. I wasn't sure when. I wasn't exactly paying attention, currently not being capable of anything but wallowing in my mind. It was probably after I entered the room, though, and I didn't know how much time has passed since his absence.
I didn't miss him, quite on the contrary. I felt a little better not having him around, reminding me of the horrible loss I experienced. Not that I really noted his presence even when he was next to me, but still, I felt a little less choked up when I was alone, allowed some silence with my own thoughts.
Though I'd lie if I said I didn't miss the presence of another human being. I couldn't draw comfort from familiar arms holding me together, keeping me from tumbling down and crashing to pieces. However, he wasn't the one I needed. Despite the popular belief that the father of the child was the one, the mother needed the most.
Sometimes, that was true, I was sure. But in my case, it was the furthest from reality. I had no one to calm me down and provide me with much-needed comfort, helping me handle the pain spreading through my body slowly, crawling its way out of the dark hole of my thoughts. It would be nice, having someone to share the pain and loss with, someone who would understand and feel the same. The support would help immensely.
But I was all alone. And I preferred the company of myself and the possibly destructive thoughts in my head, rather than the father of my child. Our child.
After the doctor told us the news and I spaced out, I briefly remembered him talking to me. Naturally, he didn't get an answer, as I was long gone by the time he started the apology. And since he didn't get the answers he probably needed, Chanyeol had to be the one to handle things. At least once he was useful, seeing as I could barely breathe, let alone speak about the events leading up to this moment.
It was as if my ears stopped working momentarily, their voice unclear and disoriented. It was like I was underwater, clearly only hearing the sound of my heartbeat, everything else muffled by the water in my ears. I felt like it too, like I was underwater. Suffocating, yet unable to resurface. Something was choking me up, but I couldn't pry out of the hold on my neck. It was like just before you actually started drowning; I didn't gasp for air in the deep waters for the last time, hoping to get oxygen. Water didn't fill my lungs and suffocated me. It was the feeling right before. The feeling of pain in your chest, the fear and inability to breathe as your lungs burned, and you wanted to claw at your throat.
I felt the same since I left the office. I felt the same when I was taken into the operating room, or whatever it was. And I felt the same afterward when they attempted to ask me questions but were rewarded with silent answers. Even now, all alone in an empty hospital room, I felt the same. I was drowning, but I wasn't spared death. I was stuck in the same place, just before drowning, yet still not giving up. Not because I didn't want to though, but because I was unable to. I wanted to give up, to let the water enter my lungs and end my misery, take me to my daughter, but like I've learned, as easy as it was to depart from the world for some, it wasn't for me. I was being punished, not even being granted death to end it all. Life really wasn't fair like that.
My mind wasn't working properly. It's been going round in circles, always repeating the same words; the doctor's words. I could hear them clearly, ringing in my ears every time I closed my eyes to blink.
"Have you suffered and major injuries to your abdominals?"
"Have you experienced any severe emotional trauma?"
Apparently, it was a heart defect, but the two might have also been a factor. How big the role it took part in the stillbirth I wasn't sure, however, those two questions couldn't leave my mind. They were engraved in my brain, printed across the insides of my eyelids, echoing in my ears like in an empty hallway, bouncing off the walls ominously.
"Have you suffered any major injuries to your abdominals?"
"Are you cheating on me, Chaeyoung?!" he yelled.
"Of course-" before I got the chance to finish my sentence, my head snapped to the right as a sharp stinging pain spread through the left side of my face, and I fell to my knees due to the impact, screaming out in pain.
"Fucking slut!" he spat on me and kicked my side, my whole body colliding with the floor.
"Have you experienced any severe emotional trauma?"
"Do you want to know who was sitting behind the wheel that night, Chaeyoung?"
"I-..."
"DO YOU?" he roared, anger burning in his eyes as he slammed a manila folder against the desk.
"I don't want to know, please... don't," I begged the man who was holding my future in his hands with tears streaking my cheeks, "Please..."
"Well, I think you should know. Look at the file, look at the person who took the light out of your parent's eyes,"
"I won't," I shook my head.
"I said," he threatened and flounced towards me, his shoulders shaking in anger, "Look at it!" he grasped the back of my head, forcing it down and almost slamming it against the wooden surface.
"Do you see? Do you see what she fucking did to you? That fucking lying dyke?"
"No..." I sobbed as I stared at the name in disbelief, tears falling on the page before me freely, smearing the ink, the name however remaining clear, as it read the name I absolutely did not want to see written across the page.
"Manoban,"
I didn't know how severe those two were and if they played any role in losing the baby, but they were the only two things I could think about as the questions rang in my ears like a bell on a bell tower. And the possibility that Chanyeol might be behind losing my baby made me hate him even more.
He knew I was pregnant, that I was carrying our child, yet he didn't treat me like I was expecting at all. He didn't take precautions to shield me away from unnecessary stress that could mess with the baby's health, quite on the contrary. I deserved to know the truth, but he could've told me after or even before I was even pregnant in the first place. He knew for so long, yet only delivered the blow when it would hurt the most, perhaps to punish me. I wasn't sure if he didn't realize or if he simply didn't care that he wouldn't be solely punishing me, but also his child.
Not to mention that aside from the emotional abuse, there was always the physical I had to withstand which would only inflict so much more stress on me, aside from the bruises and wounds. Even if they didn't harm the baby directly, he was the perpetrator who had the death of our child on his hands, at least partially. But so did I. Because I failed to do the one task I was given as a mother; protecting my child.
I heard the door open, but I didn't turn around to look at who walked in. Frankly, I didn't care, and it was obvious that either it was a concerned staff or a relieved Chanyeol. And I wanted to talk to neither. Didn't even want to be in proximity to either of the two. But then again, when was I ever given the privilege of making my own choices?
"Hey," his voice resounded through the otherwise quiet room as he closed the door to the room behind him, shutting out the noise from the outside.
I didn't answer, both not wanting to, and not having the strength to. I didn't even look at him as he addressed me as I usually would, in fear he would accuse me of ignoring his presence. However, this time, I wasn't bothered to care. Nothing mattered to me anymore.
So even when he rounded the bed and sat on the edge next to me, my eyes remained glued to the window, staring straight ahead, watching life go by uninterrupted and unaware of my loss. I wasn't sure whether to be angry about that or whether it should make me feel a little calmer.
The weather outside didn't reflect my mood. It wasn't raining, there wasn't a raging storm outside the window, strong wind breaking the trees and making them fall to the ground. No, it was sunny outside, a few colorful leaves blowing in the air as we approached fall. Pedestrians walked the sidewalks, and families of the patients hospitalized here were walking in and out of the building, eager to see their loved ones.
No one knew what happened just a few minutes ago. Or hours, perhaps. I lost track of time, wasn't really even aware of its flow. Just like every other time something like this happened, the world kept turning, absolutely oblivious to the struggles people faced. And though I knew it was irrational, it irritated me.
It was frustrating that life went on and no one stopped to look up. That no one cared. But how could they if they didn't know? If I, neither my child, meant absolutely anything to them. It was normal. Life went on. Yet I couldn't shake the feeling of resentment. Whether for the world or the man next to me, I couldn't be a hundred percent sure.
However, something about it was calming. It probably would've been even harder if the skies were letting out their rage on the world beneath, sending mighty lightning bolts crashing against the ground, setting houses and trees alike ablaze. But at the same time, it made me feel like it didn't really happen. Like I dreamt it all. That possibly, I wasn't even pregnant at all. Because how could a person die when the day was like this? When it was sunny, and serene, and wonderful outside. It didn't make sense to me; it made it seem almost impossible. Perhaps that was one of the few reasons I couldn't shed a tear. Why, despite the feeling filling my chest, my mind still didn't get the memo. Why it still hasn't fully registered with me yet.
My hand flinched away as I felt the touch of his fingertips, wanting to take my hand in his, "Hey," he repeated his earlier words cautiously, and took my hand despite my evident discomfort, "It's alright. It's just me,"
I didn't even bite my tongue to not say the words I most desperately wanted, "Exactly, it's just you," because though I no longer had no inhibition, no one and nothing to live for, my mind mouth coordination or whatever was fucked and despite wanting to, I could not open it to speak. So I remained silent, eyes not leaving the view.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his thumb rubbing circles into the back of my palm, making the skin itch and burn, "Come on, talk to me," he prodded but still didn't receive an answer.
Chanyeol sighed at the lack of words, but it didn't sound angry, which surprised me, "We can stay here for as long as you need," he informed me, "There's no rush. Or would you rather we go back home?" he questioned further when I still didn't say anything, but his attempts were futile.
I didn't want to talk to him. Didn't want to waste my time on someone like him, someone so cruel and aggressive. If it had consequences in the future, so be it. I no longer gave a shit. He could do whatever he wanted to me. He could punish me, beat me, touch me, fuck, even kill me if he wished. Because clearly, the concept wasn't entirely foreign to him.
Not only did I not want to talk to him though, but despite hearing his words, they flew out of my other ear just how they entered my left one. They didn't stick, didn't rack my brain for an answer. His words were distant, faded, and I still felt like I was at the bottom of the lake, any and all sounds muffled by the water.
"I talked to doctor Cheong," he informed again, and I wished he would just stop talking already, his voice giving me a headache. I wanted to be surrounded by silence and emptiness, wanted to be alone with my thoughts, and allow my brain to process all that happened so it wouldn't blow up in my face later like it tended to. But I couldn't do that with my husband beside me, who seemed keen on having a conversation.
Even though he wasn't a good, loving husband, he could've figured after losing a child, the mother wouldn't want to lead any conversations. And if she did, she'd start them herself. However, Chanyeol didn't spare that a thought it seemed, and talked instead, as if I was present. Which I suppose I was, at least physically, but I was sure my face betrayed that mentally I was somewhere else entirely.
But then again, he would have to care and pay attention to notice. And to think he had the audacity to say he loved me. He didn't care, never did. He didn't love me. The only thing he loved was what I brought him; money and fame after getting his hands on what my family has built. There was a difference between love and possession, a big one, but the line seemed to be blurred for him, the two things becoming one. He loved me, loved that he owned me.
"I asked about the gender. Whether he knew," he wasn't present when I gave birth and refused to look at the baby before it was placed in the basket, so he still wasn't aware he lost a daughter. I might have even looked at him if I, as much as remotely cared about his thoughts and opinions. But I didn't and so not only did I not show that I was phased at all, I didn't feel phased either. I was completely indifferent to his presence; to his words.
"He was a little reluctant to tell me," he confessed, "but I have my way of getting what I want," and chuckled as if this whole situation was amusing to him.
"He said it was a girl," Chanyeol acknowledged, "Did you know?"
Again, I didn't answer. Didn't as much as look at him, making him sigh once again.
"Whatever. I guess it doesn't matter now, anyway. I was surprised, though. I really thought we would have a boy. I mean, how could we not? I was positive my genes were strong. Honestly, I was regretting not looking at our child before they... you know, but knowing it wasn't a boy, anyway." I felt him shrug as his shoulder touched mine. I wasn't entirely sure what he meant by that, but something told me I would soon find out, and I wasn't eager to because whatever would come out of his mouth next would probably make me loathe him even more.
"What got you so down, Chaeyoung?" he asked as he shifted on the bed to face me, and I almost scoffed. Wasn't the answer obvious?
"It was a girl, not a boy like we wanted. Can you imagine how complicated things would get if you gave birth to a girl?" he laughed gently, making me sick at how easily he was brushing off the situation as if his own child didn't just pass away, "Come on, cheer up,"
"Cheer up?" I rasped in disbelief, finally finding my voice as I looked at him, anger and hatred brimming my eyes, "Cheer up?" I repeated, my voice laced with poison, "Are you fucking serious?"
"Excuse me?" he raised his brows questioningly, his hand finally leaving mine, "Is that how you speak to your husband? You should be fucking grateful!" he spat, "Grateful that I didn't divorce you yet for being so utterly useless. You should fucking celebrate the little bitch wasn't born and you don't pass down so many of your genes on. That would be so fucking embarrassing."
I wanted to say something back, to launch at him and mess up his face, but just as quickly as I found my voice, I lost it again in complete and utter disbelief as I heard what he said. Suddenly, I was back to being weak just like I've been only seconds ago, hatred and resolve fading and replaced with numbness and indifference, as I turned my head around, looking out of the window again.
"I mean, thank God you lost it. Renouncing its existence would be really bothersome. Not to mention hiding it from the media. It would be a lot of work. Hell, I should probably be thanking you for failing at the one thing a mother is supposed to do," he laughed, "So thank you Chaeyoung for proving my point and being utterly useless and a failure like always. For once, it was actually good for something,"
He contemplated for a moment before resuming, "And this way," his fingertips brushed against my arm, stroking the skin through my shirt, "we can try again. That's what you want anyway, isn't it? Such a good cock slut. I'll fuck you all night to make sure you have enough jizz in you, not to fail me like this again. Shit, you probably did it on purpose just so I could impregnate you again, didn't you?"
"What is it, cat got your tongue?" he leaned closer, whispering in my ear when he once again didn't receive an answer.
"You're sick," I muttered quietly, not deliberately, but because I didn't have the strength to speak any louder or pummel his face as I desired.
"What did you say?" he growled, standing up from the bed and looking down at me, "Fucking look at me bitch, and repeat your fucking words,"
"You're sick," I repeated a little louder, my gaze however trained to the window.
Before I knew it, he tugged upwards my head as he grabbed my jaw roughly, forcing me to look at him. At other times, I might have yelped in pain or squirmed, trying to get out of his hold, but this time I didn't have the power to move. I was sure if he let go of me, my head would fall to the side, not even having the strength to hold it up.
I didn't feel fear or apprehension as I looked into his angry eyes, almost obscured from view by his thick eyebrows knitted together in a frown. The pumping vein running along the side of his neck and popping on his forehead didn't scare me. Neither did his red face and his hand clenching, with my jaw still in it assertively, probably on the verge of breaking it.
"Listen here, you little cunt," he sneered, "You should be kissing the ground I walk on. I took care of you, sheltered you, fed you when no one else would. I loved you when no one else would. Who do you think would ever love you Chaeyoung, huh? Your pathetic little girlfriend who lied to you? Or her pathetic little brother who murdered your family? No one fucking cares about you, Chaeyoung. Not Lisa, not your lying dyke friends. You don't have any family because they're fucking dead.
Do you think they would be proud of you if they saw you? If they knew what a pathetic bitch you've become and how you're disrespecting your husband? Hell, they're probably glad they're dead so they don't have to see you. No wonder they hated you. Who wouldn't? They lost their daughter who wasn't a complete failure and it left them with you. I bet they wished it was you who had died instead," he laughed maniacally, leaned down, and tugged my chin forward, bringing my face closer to him, "I fucking saved you. You would be no one without me. Don't you forget that," and let go.
My chin hurt still from his forceful hold, and I moved it around a little to assure nothing was broken. And though his words pierced right through me, I tried my hardest not to let it show. Actually, I didn't really have to try. I felt like I was high on painkillers, completely immune to him and his words. Though they wounded my heart deeply, my eyes remained dry and my face stoic. I was numb. Completely and utterly numb.
But I still registered his words, still felt them. And I knew he was right. They would have hated me. Hell, they probably did. I had no one. I was all alone. No friends, no family, no loved ones. Abandoned, that's what I was. He was right; he was the only person I had, and I was no one without him.
He probably thought his last words especially hurt me. That bringing my sister into this would ruin whatever was left of me. Little did he know, I agreed full-heartedly. I wished, too, that I could've died instead of her. I knew I was no one compared to her. She was far smarter than I ever could've wished to be, kinder, more beautiful, more outgoing. She was everything I ever wished to be, and she deserved to be alive. Not me.
Chanyeol was right. I was pathetic, useless, stupid, and naïve. I let myself live in a fairy tale for so long I forgot what real life was all about. I forgot all about my fears and insecurities as I tried to pretend that my life was good. As I allowed myself to hope that even I deserved happiness. But I didn't. I deserved this. I deserved Chanyeol and all he was. Once again, I was foolish, stupid, and naïve to think I ever deserved anything more than this. That I deserved love.
And I wished he would've just hit me. That he would drag me out of here, back to the penthouse, and did whatever he pleased with me instead of this. Because words cut far deeper than a knife and despite not showing it, his words hurt me more than any of his actions. I wanted to cry, to run and hide, but I wasn't strong enough. I was weak, and I was frail. I was numb and out of it. And still, I felt his words.
I lost Lisa again, at my own fault. She didn't tell me the truth, lied to me repeatedly, deceived me, was cold and ruthless because of what I've done to her even though she knew the truth, yet, in her way, she cared. Or she used to. She didn't anymore. Why should she? I broke her once again.
It was a mistake. I could see that now. Perhaps this was what it took to see her point of view, to understand her hurt and her actions. None of the things she did were right. She lied and fooled me, and that wasn't right. It was awful and she should've told me, but now that I looked at the enraged man standing in front of me, saying all these words and gauging my reaction to see if I'd cry, I understood why. She said it before; she didn't want to hurt me. I brushed it off then as a mere lie, an excuse, but I could see it clearly now. Lisa tried to protect me, she always has.
I had no one, and she knew that. She knew Chanyeol wasn't a loving husband and after seeing my bruises, it only strengthened her suspicion. She knew that if I found out the truth I would loathe her, resent her, avoid her, cut her out of my life again despite her caring. Despite trying to help me, I would push her away because it would be easier. That's why she didn't tell me, because she knew I would suffer far more if she did.
It didn't make it right. I still wished I would have found out from her rather than him, but it made sense now. And not only that, but I was also expecting. And unlike Chanyeol, it seemed she didn't want to put more stress on me than necessary. She tried to protect me from both him and myself. Even if she knew that eventually I would learn the truth and hate her for it, she did her best to shield me from it, to protect me from the hurt. From running away from the only people I had.
And I did. I ran away from her, from Jisoo, and Jennie. I was left all alone, with no one but the Korean man standing tall in front of me, his eyes burning holes through my head.
I understood now. Even if she knew the truth, I hurt her when I left. It changed nothing about the fact I could've told her, that I could've contacted her but chose not to. My actions rightfully hurt Lisa, just like hers did me. And because I was angry, I failed to see it before. Failed to see she was trying to protect me, to be the person who would be there and who would care. And I did exactly what she tried to prevent; pushed the only people who cared away.
Now I was all alone. With no one to turn back to, no one to talk to. I was all his, and there was no one coming for me. I pushed the last people who cared away, and now I was alone. It was my fault. All of it was my fault. I should've died. Should've died instead of Ally, should've died instead of my daughter. I wished I were dead. Because death was so much better than this.
Suddenly, Chanyeol's phone went off and with one last glare, he pulled it out of the pocket of his slacks and walked to the corner of the room to take the call, "Ashley? What is it? Now? Are you insane, do you know what just happened, I can't just- Seriously? Can't they just- Okay. Yeah, okay, I'll be there. Bye,"
"I have to go," he turned to me, his eyes cold, "But don't think this is over. I will make sure you behave next time when I come back home. Fucking bitch," and with that he left the room, slamming the door behind him and leaving me alone with my thoughts once again.
Alone with my thoughts, and alone by myself. It dawned on me now. I could see it clearly, it was worse than I thought. I lost everyone. He was right. No one wanted me. How could they? And those who did, well, I pushed those away myself. I refused to see reason, refused to listen to her side of the story because I was scared, and running was always so much easier.
And now I was abandoned, left to the mercy of my husband, who owned me. I was his. His to hurt, his to play with, his to use. I was no one. By myself, I wasn't a person. I was... no one. He was right, and so was the woman staring back at me from the reflection in the mirror every morning. I was pathetic, an excuse for a human being, and my parents hated me. As they should. I hated myself, too.
Chanyeol was all I had. I had lost Ally, my parents, Jisoo, Lisa, Jennie, and now my child. I was lost. There was no one to look after me, no one to hold my hand when I cried, no one to wipe my tears.
I lost my friends, the only people who really cared, and the person I loved most to fear. I lost them because I was foolish, led to believe lies that Chanyeol fed me. He controlled my mind, and I let him. It was all my fault, not his, and this time, I didn't see how I could ever get them back. How I could face either of them. I deserved this. Being alone for all eternity.
Even my child, the only thing keeping me afloat, I lost due to my own negligence. I let it die because I wasn't strong. Because I failed as a mother, I failed to protect the only thing that mattered. I lost my child. My baby. She deserved to live and I couldn't help but wish that if we couldn't trade, she would've just taken me with her.
-
A/N: You all wanted her to lose the baby. I was never concerned about those comments because I understood why you would. However, to write this chapter, I had to do a lot of research on what it's like to lose a child and though I knew it was serious and heartbreaking; I didn't seem to grasp just how much. No one should ever have to go through something so terrible and traumatic and I hope, just how I learned through research, that by reading this you understand just how real and terrible it is. I hope we can all learn and not wish it upon anyone (unless they themselves want it; I guess) despite the circumstances. Because it's a life that's lost, and its parents will forever be marked by it. And no one should ever go through that. It's a serious issue, and it's not to be taken lightly. I hope I did it justice with the way I described it, seeing as I would hate to make it seem lighter or any less painful than it is.