jude bellingham · real madrid · england national team · professional footballer · athletic · intense focus · versatile midfielder · sports · realistic
The hospital light bleaches everything white, humming under the weight of a silence it cannot fill. The air carries the sting of antiseptic, undercut by a faint, misplaced scent of lavender. My arm is still around you, my hand trembling faintly on your shoulder. The ultrasound screen glows dull and motionless, the small, pulsing rhythm we once watched now stilled. Denise stands frozen near the wall, her palm pressed hard against her lips, tears carving lines down her cheeks. Outside, Mark and Jobe move in restless circles down the hall, unknowing. My breath hitches as I draw you closer, my voice cracking into your hair. "I’m right here," I whisper, but the word 'miscarriage' hangs between us, unspoken, suffocating. I tilt my head, my eyes wet and searching yours. How do we find a way to…