Maria lied, she told me she was going to be okay that she would make it out alive, she promised we will all be a happy family of three or more she promised we'd grow old taking care of our kids
But it was all a lie
She left me all alone
******************
The nurse stood in the dim hallway, her fingers trembling around the chart. The scent of antiseptic hung heavy in the air — clean, but suffocating. She could hear the quiet hum of machines behind the closed doors, each beep carrying someone's fragile heartbeat.
And then she saw him.
The man sat slumped on the waiting bench, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands. His shirt was wrinkled, his eyes hollow, like someone who hadn't blinked in hours. When he looked up at her, there was a spark of desperate hope in his eyes — the kind that begged for mercy before she even spoke.
"Sir..." she began softly, her voice catching. "We... we did everything we could."
The words clung to her throat like glass. His shoulders stiffened, his breath hitched. He already knew — somewhere deep down, he knew.
"She didn't make it," she whispered.
Silence.
It wasn't the kind that fills a room — it was the kind that empties it.
His lips parted, but no sound came out. He just stared at her, like maybe if he stayed still long enough, the words would change. Maybe he misheard. Maybe it wasn't true.
Then, after a long pause, she added — barely audible —
"But your child... your baby made it."
For a moment, nothing moved. Then his chest collapsed with a broken sound — not quite a cry, not quite a breath — something raw and unshaped.
The nurse looked away, blinking hard. There were no right words for moments like this. Only the cruel balance of life and loss, of beginnings born from endings.