The clock had struck midnight, and at last, the house was still. Anne’s three children were peacefully asleep upstairs, cozy and secure, completely oblivious to the tears their mother was quietly shedding downstairs. Anne sat on the kitchen floor, wrapping her arms around herself as if trying to contain her grief, letting quiet sobs tremble through her shoulders. The shadows wrapped around me, creating a space where tears could flow freely—no one to comfort, no gentle whispers to calm, no pretense to uphold.

With a tender touch, she rested one hand on her belly, sensing the delicate movements of life inside her. She softly murmured, “I’m sorry,” to the unborn child about to enter a world filled with uncertainty and challenges. Only two months back, her life seemed completely transformed. She was a confident wife, eagerly anticipating her fourth baby, feeling secure in her marriage and trusting in her husband’s love. Now, she hardly recognized the world around her.

That pivotal night lingered in Anne’s memory, unfolding like a scene in slow motion. Derek, her husband, came home late, his face showing a distant and grim look. He stood there, tie still perfectly knotted, and declared, “I’m leaving.” Anne stared, a wave of disbelief washing over her.

“I just don’t get it,” she said, her voice shaking. “We were happy, right?” I believed we desired these children, this life we’ve built together…” They had envisioned a large family, hadn’t they? Anne had always felt that each pregnancy brought them closer together.