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“Okay,” Mom whispers before she gets up to take care of it.

Half an hour later, Colin and Mom are driving me home. I declined when they asked me if I wanted to visit Drake before I left. I couldn’t handle it.

Not in the state that I’m in, not without having a nervous breakdown.

When Colin parks outside my house, I tell him to stay in the car. Mom helps me out and walks me to the door. “I can take it from here, Mom. Tell Pat and Hugh I will be there in a day or two.”

Mom hugs me. “I love you. I want to be here for you, but it seems that you need to be on your own. I don’t agree with this, but I am going to respect your need for privacy. I’m a phone call away,” she reminds me.

“I love you, too,” I whisper, trying to hold it together.

She waits for me to get in the house before she turns and leaves with Colin.

I don’t bother turning on the lights. The darkness suits my feeling and my mood. It’s odd when I walk. There is this weird hollowness in my stomach. There’s only a hint of pain to remind me that I lost something today.

I feel completely empty.

When I get upstairs, instead of going directly into my bedroom, I go across the hall to the other room. I stand against the door, my hand gripping the handle. I slowly open it and go inside.

That very same day when Drake got into the car accident, I spent all morning painting and rearranging the small bedroom. Taking out things that weren’t needed, so I would have space for a crib, a diaper changing station, a rocking chair; the things I had ordered online that day.

The eggshell colored paintjob is only halfway done; I remember thinking that I would have all the next day to finish it.

There it was, unfinished. Just like my pregnancy.

I wanted that baby. I was excited to have something to look forward to, but it was short-lived.

A dying scream comes from me before I curl up on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.

I’m crying for my dad. For Drake.

But most of all, I cry for the baby I never got the chance to know, to hold. The baby I loved will just be in my memory. Forever stuck there, frozen.