Katrina pov
miscarriage, I stare at him. My eyes are wide and unblinking, fixed entirely on the small, rhythmic movement of his jaw.
The moment the word left his mouth—*miscarriage*—it felt as though a physical barrier had slammed down inside my ears. A heavy, leaden door dropping into place with absolute finality. I couldn't hear the rest of what he was saying. I could see his lips moving, snapping and shaping words meant for comfort or perhaps technical, clinical medical explanations about percentages, chromosomes, and anatomy. But everything becomes instantly, completely quiet. The room is stripped of its acoustics. In place of his voice, my ears began to ring with a loud, piercing, high-pitched frequency that drowned out the entire universe. It is a sharp, electrical whine, the soun
