Suffer
Home life was different after that. He wouldn't admit it, but losing our child weighed on him. He never wanted to talk about it; he spent that first few days watching over me. Hot water bottles, teas and lots of pain pills. Every time I would go to the bathroom, he would watch, as if he expected a corpse of some sort.
But what he didn't know, wouldn't hurt him. The only thing left of the child was clumps of cells that broke into pieces as it deteriorated inside of me. Had there been something, anything for him to see, I think it may have been easier. Maybe a body to bury or ashes to hold onto. I wouldn't be able to offer him anything.
