Chasing her Return

Chapter 4 : Miscarriage

The room was too quiet. The beeping of the machines next to me felt distant, like I was hearing them from underwater. My eyes fluttered open, and for a second, I didn't know where I was. The harsh fluorescent lights above me blurred into white streaks, and then the pain hit—sharp, cold, stabbing through my body like knives.

I tried to move, but the ache in my stomach stopped me. I gasped, my hand instinctively reaching down to my belly, searching, and needing to feel the life that had been growing there. But there was nothing. Only emptiness.

The doctor stood at the foot of my bed, his face a mask of pity. I hated that look. I knew what was coming even before he said the words.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Torres" he said, his voice slow and careful, like he was afraid I might break. "You lost the baby."

“Correction, I’m Ms. Johnson. What did you say?!”

“You lost the baby, Ms. Johnson,” he replied.

Lost the baby. My baby. Gone.

"No." The word barely came out. It didn’t feel real, none of it.

"No." I shook my head, refusing to believe him.

This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. My baby was supposed to be safe. I had fought so hard, suffered through so much—how could this happen?

My hand pressed harder against my stomach, willing myself to feel something, anything. But there was only that unbearable emptiness.

"No!" I screamed, the word ripping out of me. I couldn’t stop.

"No! My baby! No!"

The sobs came next, violent and uncontrollable. I thrashed in the bed, my body shaking with the force of the grief that tore through me like a storm.

I heard Sarah’s voice beside me, felt her arms wrapping around me, holding me, trying to pull me out of the darkness. But her voice was muffled, like she was speaking through a wall of glass. I could feel her there, but I couldn’t respond. I couldn’t breathe.

"They killed my baby!" I screamed again, barely recognizing the sound of my own voice.

"Miguel did this That bastard! He took everything from me!" I was sobbing so hard I thought I might pass out, but I didn’t care. I wanted the pain to stop. I wanted it all to end.

Sarah was saying something—I could feel her hand stroking my hair, her voice soft, trying to calm me—but it didn’t matter. Nothing could fix this. Nothing could bring back what I had lost.

My parents. My parents hadn’t even come. Not when I was thrown into that hellhole of a prison, not when I needed them the most. And now, not even when I lost my child.

"They don’t care about me," I whispered, my voice broken, barely audible through my sobs.

"They never cared, Sarah. They turned their backs on me the moment things went bad."

They let Miguel ruin my life, and now—now they can’t even be here. My baby is gone, and they’re still not here."

The silence in the room was deafening. My heart pounded in my chest, but it felt hollow, like something had been ripped out of me, leaving a void so deep I couldn’t even begin to fill it. My child. My baby. The one thing I had left to hold on to, the one thing that had kept me going, was gone.

I clenched the sheets beneath me, my knuckles turning white. I felt something dark and sharp settle inside me, replacing the sorrow with something colder. Hotter. Anger. Rage. Miguel had done this. He had taken everything from me—my freedom, my dignity, and now my child.

"I swear to you," I whispered, the words filled with venom, "he’s going to pay. Miguel is going to pay for what he’s done. I’ll make him suffer for this. I’ll give my child justice, no matter what it takes."

My tears had dried, but the fire inside me burned brighter with every breath. The sorrow, the grief, it was still there, but it had turned into something else. Something darker. Anger. Hatred.

"I'll destroy him, Sarah," I said, my voice cold and hard. "He doesn’t have to walk away from this. He will pay, I swear it."

Sarah held me tighter, but I could feel her worry. I knew she was afraid of what I had become at that moment. I could see the sadness in her eyes, the helplessness. She didn’t want me to spiral further, but I couldn’t stop. The fire inside me was too strong, too consuming.

Miguel had ruined my life, but this—this was unforgivable. My baby, the one pure thing I had left in this world, was gone, and Miguel was responsible. He had to pay. He would pay. I would make sure of it.

"I will make him regret the day he ever crossed me," I muttered, barely hearing my own voice. "He’ll lose everything, just like I did."

There was no going back now. The pain in my chest wasn’t going away, but it was fueling me, driving me forward. My child would have justice. I would see to that.

Miguel had unleashed something in me that couldn’t be undone. And I wasn’t going to stop until he felt the same emptiness, the same loss that I did.

The next day, my body still ached, but the pain in my chest was sharper—deeper. They hadn’t even let me recover, hadn’t given me a moment to mourn the loss of my baby. The hospital felt like a blur as two officers appeared at the door of my room, unceremoniously leading me out. The cold handcuffs clicked tightly around my wrists, a reminder of the hell I was still in.

I walked down the sterile hospital hallway, my mind racing. The loss of my child burned in the back of my skull, every step twisting the knife deeper.

My grief twisted into something else—something darker and more dangerous. The image of the woman with the tattoo was seared into my mind, her face cold and emotionless as she ripped my life apart. I had to make her pay. I had to make all of them pay.

But my confusion grew with each passing minute. We weren’t heading towards the prison, where I thought they would drag me back to that living nightmare.

Instead, we were driving into the city. The car moved faster, weaving through traffic, and the surrounding buildings grew larger. My hands clenched tighter in my lap, the handcuffs biting into my skin, but the sharp sting barely registered.

“What’s going on? Where are you taking me?” I finally asked, my voice cracking as fear mingled with the rising fury inside me.

Neither officer responded. They just stared straight ahead, stone-faced, like I wasn’t even there. My heart pounded harder in my chest, my mind spinning with possibilities. Were they taking me somewhere to interrogate me?

The car slowed to a stop, and I looked out the window. It wasn’t a prison. It wasn’t even a police station. We were parked in front of a sleek, tall building with reflective glass windows and a wide, polished door.

“What is this?” I demanded, my voice growing louder as panic began to rise. “Where are you taking me?!”

The officers remained silent as they opened the door and pulled me out of the car. My legs felt weak beneath me, but I forced myself to stand, squaring my shoulders, trying to appear stronger than I felt. They led me inside, the sound of my footsteps echoing down the pristine marble hallway. Every nerve in my body screamed with tension.

I had no idea where they were taking me. Every step made my heart race faster, fear creeping up my spine. We stopped in front of a door, and I could hear muffled voices inside. One of the officers reached for the handle, pushing it open with a slow, deliberate motion.

The room was dimly lit, but my eyes immediately locked on a figure at the far end. A woman. She was sitting casually in a chair, her legs crossed, her hands resting delicately on her knee. She was dressed in a sleek black dress, her hair pulled back into a neat bun.

When she saw me, her lips curled into a smile. Not a warm smile, but one of smug satisfaction—like she had been waiting for this moment for a long time.

My breath caught in my throat. Who is she? I had no idea why I was here or why this woman was looking at me like she already knew everything about me.

"Who are you?" I demanded, my voice trembling with confusion and barely suppressed rage. "Why am I here?"