Losing my child The final strike

“Look at her, trapping Cain with a child just to grab attention.”

The words slid through the air smoothly, almost lazily, like the woman enjoyed how easily they landed on my back. I stopped walking, not because I wanted to, but because my body refused to move forward, my feet suddenly heavy, my fingers tightening around my clutch until the edges bit into my skin.

Another voice followed, amused, sharp.

“She really thought pregnancy would turn her into Mrs. Forever.”

A soft laugh broke out.

“I heard it was an accident. But accidents can be useful, right.”

I inhaled slowly, carefully, forcing my lungs to work even as my chest tightened painfully, my heart thudding so hard it made my ears ring. The hall felt too bright, too loud, the crystal lights overhead reflecting everywhere like they were meant to expose me, not celebrate anything.

I stood near a pillar, my back straight, my chin lifted, because I refused to look small even when my hands were cold and trembling. My palm rested over my stomach without thinking. The curve was still subtle, still something I could hide under fabric, but everyone here seemed to see it clearly anyway.

The baby shifted.

The movement was sudden and sharp, enough to make my breath hitch, a thin line of pain spreading low and deep. I swallowed and pressed my hand a little harder, my fingers splaying protectively as if I could shield us both from the eyes around me.

Then the host stepped forward, his voice smooth, trained, loud enough to cut through the chatter.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for being here tonight. We have someone very special to welcome back.”

The room leaned in as one.

“She’s finally back.”

Applause exploded, loud and eager, filling the space like a wave crashing over my head.b

My vision blurred at the edges. My ears rang. My chest tightened so fast it felt like my ribs were folding inward.

She walked in through the doors like time had waited for her.

Leah.

Her name moved through the crowd almost as quickly as she did.

“Leah’s back.”

“She looks even better.”

“No wonder Cain never forgot her.”

She wore white, soft and effortless, her hair shining under the lights, her smile calm and confident, the kind that came from knowing she would always be welcomed. Her heels clicked steadily against the floor, each step sure, each movement graceful, like she belonged here in a way I never had.

Cain was beside her.

My husband.

He leaned slightly toward her as they walked, his hand hovering close to her back, not touching, but ready, familiar. His face looked relaxed, pleased, open in a way I had not seen directed at me in a long time.

Something inside my chest gave a small, sharp crack.

I took a step forward before I could stop myself. Then another. The floor felt unstable beneath my feet, my knees weak, my stomach heavy.

When I reached him, I