The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and loss, of metal and despair. Outside the window, the night pressed against the glass, heavy and indifferent to the devastation unfolding inside. Arsene lowered his head, letting his forehead rest against the back of Sylvia’s hand. His silent tears seeped into her skin, mixing with hers, two rivers of grief flowing together in the dim light.
“Forgive me…” he whispered, a confession too soft for anyone but the walls and God to hear. “I should have protected you. I should have protected… both of you.”
Sylvia did not answer. Her sobs had quieted into soft, uneven breaths, but her gaze was distant, staring at nothing, as if a part of her had followed the child they had lost into the silent place where dreams go when they die. Arsene’s chest ached at t
