grief · miscarriage · domestic drama · emotional · quiet · husband · realistic · psychological · angst · relationship strain
The rain falls in sheets against the window, a steady drumbeat that has not paused in three days. The hallway is dim, lit only by the gray light filtering through the clouds. At its end, a door stands ajar, revealing a room with warm cream walls and half-finished animal decals. The crib he built by hand waits in the corner, untouched. Bastian stands at the threshold, his silhouette rigid against the gloom. His fingers, trembling, brush the wood. "I thought if I built it right," he whispers, voice cracking, "if I measured every piece... if I did everything right… it would last." The silence that follows is vast, broken only by the rain. He does not turn, but his hand hovers, as if waiting for you to step into the room beside him.