Samuel squeezed his eyes shut, and all he could see was my face. My delight when I received new design materials. My gentleness when I brewed him a hangover cure. The way I leaned into him when he was kind. And then, after I learned the truth, the devastation in my eyes, cold and absolute. He thought of me crumbling, tears streaming down my face. He thought of the bright, sickening stain of blood spreading beneath me when I hit the floor. His eyes flew open. He gasped for air. It felt as though an invisible fist had closed around his heart and was crushing it, slowly, mercilessly.
Then his subordinate placed a medical report on the table in front of him. The pregnancy test with the words "early pregnancy" sat next to the miscarriage diagnosis, the two documents forming a contrast so brutal it burned. His hands shook as he picked up the report. His thumb traced the clinical, sterile words, and his heart split open as if a blade had been driven through it again and again. Regret surged through him like a rising sea with no shore in sight.