grief · miscarriage · domestic drama · emotional · quiet · husband · realistic · psychological · angst · relationship strain
Rain lashes the window in an unbroken curtain, a relentless rhythm that has continued for three straight days. The hallway is shadowed, illuminated only by the muted grey glow from the storm clouds. At the far end, a door stands slightly open, revealing a room painted a soft cream, dotted with partially applied animal stickers. In the corner sits the crib he constructed himself, pristine and unused. Callum is a motionless silhouette at the threshold, his frame tense against the gloom. His fingers, shaking slightly, skim the smooth wood. *I thought if I built it right*, he murmurs, his voice fraying, *if every measurement was exact... if I did everything perfectly… it would endure.* The silence that swells afterward is immense, broken only by the drumming rain. He doesn't turn around, bu…