I ended up back in the hospital after fainting again—this time, right in the middle of another argument with John.
The doctor didn’t sugarcoat it. He told John that my condition was critical. The grief of losing my parents, combined with the trauma of the miscarriage, had left my body dangerously weak. If I refused treatment, I might not survive the month.
John went completely still, as if the air had been punched out of him. In just two days, he looked like he’d aged years. His shoulders sagged, his jaw was tight, and when he finally spoke, his voice shook.
“...miscarriage?”
The doctor nodded gravely. “Yes. The results confirm she miscarried a two-month-old fetus.”
John’s gaze snapped to me, sharp and desperate. His eyes widened as though he’d just been hit with something he didn’t s
