Giving birth
2419 Words
[EVELYN AND LUCAS’ HOME —THAT NIGHT]
The house felt wrong the moment Evelyn stepped inside.
Not empty — no, it was worse than that.
It felt abandoned, like something important had been taken away without caution.
Sandra helped her in slowly, one careful step at a time, her arm firm around Evelyn’s waist.
Evelyn’s body felt heavier than it ever had before, not just because of the baby, but because grief had weight.
It sat on her chest, pressed against her lungs, made breathing feel like work.
“Careful,” Sandra murmured softly. “There’s a step.”
Evelyn nodded, though she hadn’t seen it. She wasn’t really seeing anything.
Her eyes were open, but her mind was somewhere else — stuck between the cemetery soil and the sound of Sandra’s voice telling her it was done.
“He’s at rest now.”
The door closed behind them with a quiet click.
That sound did something to Evelyn.
It made everything real.
This was it. This was home — and Lucas would never walk into it again.
Sandra guided her to the couch and helped her sit. The cushions dipped under Evelyn’s weight, and she let herself sink, her hands immediately moving to her belly like that was the only place she could anchor herself.
“I’ll get you some water,” Sandra said quickly, and Evelyn didn’t answer.
Sandra went to the kitchen, her movements purposeful, efficient.
She filled a glass, placed it gently in Evelyn’s hand, then crouched in front of her.
“Drink a little,” she urged. “For the baby.”
Evelyn took a small sip. It tasted like nothing.
Sandra reached up and brushed Evelyn’s hair back, her touch gentle, caring and convincing.
“I’ll stay tonight,” she said. “You shouldn’t be alone.”
Evelyn finally looked at her.
Her eyes were swollen, red, hollow. “You promise?”
“Of course,” Sandra said instantly. “I won’t leave you.”
Evelyn nodded slowly. Trust still lived in her, fragile but present.
They sat there in silence for a while. The clock on the wall ticked loudly, each second stretching too long.
The house creaked softly, the way old houses do at night, like it was breathing.
Eventually, Sandra stood. “You should lie down.”
Evelyn allowed herself to be helped upstairs. Every step felt heavier than the last.
The bedroom door opened to darkness, broken only by the faint glow of the streetlight outside.
The bed was still neatly made. Lucas’s side untouched.
Evelyn’s throat tightened.
Sandra helped her lie down, pulling the blanket over her carefully.
She placed a pillow behind her back, another beneath her knees.
“There,” she said softly. “Try to rest.”
Evelyn stared at the ceiling.
“You’ll be here when I wake up?” she asked quietly.
Sandra smiled. “Yes.”
Satisfied, Evelyn closed her eyes.
Minutes passed. Maybe more.
When Evelyn’s breathing finally evened out, Sandra straightened slowly.
Her expression changed — not drastically, just enough. The softness faded. The concern slipping away.
She looked around the room one last time. Then she picked up her bag.
The front door opened, then closed, and Sandra was gone.
---
Evelyn woke up to silence.
Not the calm kind — the heavy kind.
She turned slightly, her back aching, her hand reaching out instinctively to the other side of the bed.
Empty.
Her heart skipped.
“Sandra?” she called softly.
No answer.
She pushed herself up slowly, panic creeping in as she noticed the room was dark — darker than before.
“Sandra?” she called again, louder this time.
Still nothing.
Evelyn’s chest tightened.
She struggled out of bed and made her way downstairs, one hand gripping the railing, the other pressed protectively to her stomach.
The living room was empty.
The front door was locked.
Sandra’s bag was gone.
Evelyn stood there, frozen.
“She… she must have stepped out,” she whispered to herself.
She reached for her phone with shaky hands and dialed Sandra’s number.
Ringing.
Once. Twice.
Then voicemail.
She tried again.
Voicemail.
Her breathing grew uneven.
“Sandra,” she whispered into the phone when it finally connected. “Please call me back.”
She sat down slowly on the couch, her legs trembling beneath her. Minutes passed. Then more.
She checked the time.
1:48 a.m.
Still nothing.
Evelyn hugged herself tightly, rocking slightly as tears slipped down her face.
“She wouldn’t leave me,” she murmured. “She promised.”
Her phone buzzed.
Hope flared instantly.
But it wasn’t Sandra.
It was the hospital — reminding her of her next appointment.
Evelyn let out a broken sound that was half a laugh, half a sob.
She was alone.
[HOSPITAL — DELIVERY ROOM]
The pain started just before dawn.
At first, Evelyn thought it was another false alarm. Her body had been teasing her for days now — tightening and releasing.
But this time was different.
This time, it didn’t stop.
She clutched the edge of the bed as a sharp wave tore through her lower body, stealing her breath.
“No… not now,” she gasped.
Another wave followed almost immediately.
She cried out.
Her phone slipped from her hand as she tried — desperately — to call Sandra again.
No answer.
She called Lucas’s number next.
Disconnected.
Her hands shook as she dialed emergency services.
By the time they arrived, Evelyn was sobbing uncontrollably, soaked in sweat, terrified beyond words.
At the hospital, everything moved too fast.
Bright lights. Voices. Hands everywhere.
“Where’s your partner?” a nurse asked.
Evelyn turned her head weakly. “He’s… he’s dead.”
The words tasted wrong.
Pain ripped through her again, stronger this time. She screamed, her voice breaking as she cried out his name.
“Lucas!”
Hours blurred together.
She begged. She cried. She nearly passed out.
When the baby finally arrived, Evelyn didn’t even have the strength to cry.
A tiny wail filled the room.
They placed him on her chest.
“He’s beautiful,” the nurse said gently.
Evelyn looked down at her son, then broke down.
---
The next morning.
The room smelled like antiseptic and something faintly metallic, a sharp, clean scent that burned her nose every time she breathed in too deeply.
Evelyn lay flat on the narrow hospital bed, staring up at the white ceiling tiles.
Her body felt heavy, like it no longer belonged to her. Every muscle ached — not sharply, but deeply, as if the pain had settled into her bones and decided to stay.
Her arms felt weak, trembling slightly whenever she tried to move them.
Her legs felt distant, numb in a way that scared her. Even breathing felt like work. Each breath dragged slowly through her chest, shallow and careful, as though her body was afraid of breaking if it inhaled too much.
She turned her head slightly.
The bassinet stood beside her bed.
For a moment, her mind didn’t register what she was seeing.
Then it did.
Her baby slept quietly inside it.
So small. So unbelievably small.
Her heart twisted painfully in her chest, tightening until it hurt to swallow.
She pushed herself up just enough to look properly, her lips pressing together as a dull ache spread across her lower body.
Pain shot through her, and she sucked in a breath, her fingers curling into the sheets. The blanket slipped slightly down her legs, and she barely noticed.
Nothing mattered except the tiny life beside her.
The baby’s chest rose and fell in soft, uneven motions.
Alive and safe.
That realization hit her harder than the physical pain ever could.
Her throat closed instantly.
A sob climbed up her chest, burning its way out before she could stop it.
“Oh God…” she whispered, her voice cracked and thin.
Her hand trembled as she reached out, moving slowly, afraid of waking him, afraid of touching him too hard.
Her fingers finally rested gently against the baby’s tiny arm.
Warm. Soft. Real.
Tears blurred her vision immediately.
“I’m here,” she murmured, her voice shaking. “Mama’s here.”
The baby stirred slightly, his face scrunching for a second, then relaxing again. He didn’t wake.
Evelyn let out a shaky breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
She stared at him for a long time, her eyes tracing every detail as if she needed to memorize him in case the world decided to take him too.
The shape of his nose.
The softness of his cheeks.
The faint crease between his brows that looked painfully familiar.
Too familiar.
He looked like Lucas.
The realization split her open.
Her chest tightened violently, and tears spilled freely now, sliding down her temples into her hair, soaking the pillow beneath her head.
“I don’t know how to do this without you,” she whispered into the quiet room, her words barely louder than the machines humming softly nearby.
Her fingers curled slowly, protectively, as if shielding the baby from something unseen.
“I don’t know how to raise him alone.”
The words felt too big. Too final.
The door creaked open softly.
Evelyn flinched.
A nurse stepped inside, her movements quiet, her expression gentle but tired.
“How are we feeling?” the nurse asked quietly.
Evelyn wiped at her face with the back of her hand, embarrassed by the tears she couldn’t stop.
“I don’t know,” she admitted honestly.
The nurse nodded like she understood. She checked the monitors, adjusted a stand, then scribbled something on a chart.
“You’ll be discharged later today,” she said calmly. “Do you have someone coming to pick you up?”
The question landed like a blow to Evelyn’s chest.
Her heart stuttered.
She hesitated, her mouth opening and closing once before words finally came.
“My… friend,” she said weakly. “She said she would.”
The nurse smiled softly. “That’s good.”
But Evelyn wasn’t smiling. Because something inside her already felt wrong.
Time moved strangely after that.
Hours passed, but they felt thick, heavy, like they were dragging across her skin instead of flowing forward.
The light shifted across the floor slowly, inch by inch, until it no longer touched the bassinet.
The baby woke up crying.
The sound startled Evelyn, sharp and sudden, slicing through her chest.
“Oh— oh no,” she whispered, panic surging instantly.
She fumbled awkwardly, her movements slow and unsure as she tried to lift him.
Her arms shook under his tiny weight, fear blooming in her chest as she worried she’d drop him.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered repeatedly, rocking him gently. “I’m learning. Please don’t cry.”
Her heart pounded violently.
She tried humming. Whispering. Walking the few steps her body allowed.
Nothing worked.
Her hands were clumsy. Her body still hurt. Her mind felt foggy.
Tears slipped down her cheeks again, falling onto the baby’s blanket.
Eventually, a nurse came in to help, guiding her hands patiently, showing her how to hold him properly, how to soothe him.
Slowly, finally, the baby settled.
Evelyn sank back onto the bed, exhausted.
She reached for her phone.
No messages.
No missed calls.
Her chest tightened.
She stared at the screen, her thumb hovering over Sandra’s name.
She called… Voicemail.
She tried again… Voicemail.
Again… Voicemail.
Each unanswered call felt heavier than the last.
“She’ll come,” Evelyn whispered to herself. “She said she would.”
But doubt crept in quietly, settling into her chest like something cold.
---
By the time the nurse returned with discharge papers, Evelyn’s hands were shaking visibly.
“Someone should be here soon,” the nurse said kindly. “You can’t leave alone.”
Evelyn forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “She’s probably on her way.”
She dialed Sandra again.
Nothing.
Her chest tightened painfully now.
The nurse glanced at the phone, then back at Evelyn. “Do you want us to call someone else?”
Evelyn swallowed hard.
“There is no one else,” she said softly.
The words echoed in her head.
The nurse didn’t speak right away.
Then, gently, “We’ll wait a little longer.”
They waited, and Sandra never came.
Eventually, arrangements were made.
A hospital social worker helped organize a ride.
Evelyn barely remembered it happening.
She held her baby tightly as they wheeled her down the hallway, the fluorescent lights passing overhead in a blur. Voices overlapped. Doors opening and close.
The world moved too fast.
Outside, the sky had already begun to darken.
She felt small. Unprepared. Alone.
[EVELYN AND LUCAS’ HOME]
The house felt colder than before.
Evelyn stepped inside slowly, the baby carrier heavy in her hands, her body protesting with every step.
The door closed behind her with a soft click, sealing her inside the silence.
No Sandra.
No Lucas.
Just her.
She set the carrier down carefully and leaned against the wall, her chest rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath.
“This is our home,” she whispered to the baby. “We’ll be okay.”
But her voice shook, betraying the lie.
She moved through the house slowly, noticing everything she hadn’t before.
Lucas’s jacket still hung on the hook by the door.
His mug still sat by the sink, half-washed.
His tools were stacked neatly near the back door, exactly where he’d left them.
She sat down on the couch and stared at them until tears blurred her vision.
The baby cried again.
Panic surged.
She tried rocking him. Walking back and forth. Whispering his name she had given him.
Nothing worked.
Her tears joined his.
“I’m trying Liam,” she sobbed. “Please believe me.”
Eventually, exhaustion claimed them both.
The baby quieted.
Evelyn sank onto the couch, cradling him against her chest, her eyes burning, her body trembling….
Evelyn laid the baby down carefully in the small crib beside the bed.
She sat on the edge of the mattress, staring at Lucas’s side.
Empty.
Always empty now.
She lay down slowly, turning toward the space where he should have been.
“I survived today,” she whispered into the darkness. “You would be proud.”
Her hand rested protectively over her child’s chest.
And for the first time since the accident, she allowed herself to say it.
“I miss you.”
- Writer
