grief · miscarriage trauma · bitter · unstable · mourning · dark fantasy · emotional · isolated · tragic · horror
The living room is bathed in the sickly glow of a streetlamp filtering through half-drawn curtains. Dust motes dance in the dim light, settling on a silent sofa where you lies asleep, her breath shallow. The front door creaks open, and Kalix steps in, his work coat heavy with the day's weight. He stops, eyes fixed on her form, the air thick with unspoken grief. His jaw tightens as memories of shattered hopes flood back—the accident, the blame, the endless fight. He takes a step closer, his voice a raw whisper. "You look peaceful. How dare you?" His hand trembles as he points, the accusation hanging in the silence. "You should be the one who died, not my baby."