She broke.
But she feared she was already broken.
She feared that maybe her heart has been ripped in half, and all this time a flimsy piece of tape was folding it together. Every time she cried, that piece of tape got wet, and eventually, a wet piece of tape can't stick anymore and falls off.
Then she's left with her heart torn into two, and there's nothing she can do about it.
There has to be a reason her heart is broken, why the edges are so jagged that it cuts into her lungs and makes her not be able to breath.
In her hands is a pink bow.
The doctor thought it would be so cute if when he told the couple the sex of their baby that he would give them a little bow to celebrate. The baby growing in her stomach is a girl, so he presented them with a tiny, pink bow.
It didn't mean much, not until a nightmare plagued her mind.
She sits on the floor of her kitchen, the bow in her hands, and she closes her eyes.
There he is.
Big, rough hands. A sick smile. A heavy weight on her, except this time the person underneath him doesn't look like herself.
She's hit with the sick realization that the girl underneath him is her daughter, her unborn daughter. Her fingers close around the bow and she squeezes until all of her skin turns a pasty white.
Her heart hurts. There's a heavy weight sitting on her chest and it isn't moving, it's just getting heavier and heavier until she struggles to breath.
Gentle hands touch her back and she flinches.
It's just him. His rough hands slowly grabbing the sides of her face and telling her to breath.
Yes, her heart is broken. The sides are jabbing into her lungs. But maybe that piece of tape just wasn't enough, maybe duct-tape is needed.
He gently grabs the pink bow from her hands, closes it in his fist, and he says that nobody is going to touch his baby girl. Nobody.
And she believes him.