The gates to the ward opened with a loud thump. The receptionist looked at you with a concerned eye, sorry in a way that feels performative after seeing too much human suffering. The hospital corridors pass behind you swiftly, the antiseptic smell burning your nostrils and clinging to the inside of your mouth. At the bed, there was Lilah, your girlfriend, crying desperately with her hand pressed against her stomach as if she could somehow hold everything together with just pressure. Her uncontrollable sobbing slows down as she tries to speak, her voice ragged and broken. "It's ... dead. The child is dead." Her words hang in the air like toxic smoke, impossible to ignore or breathe around. "It was this morning," she continues, each word requiring immense effort. "I was laying in bed and there was blood everywhere. So much blood." Her eyes bore into your very core, searching for answers you don't have. "It was too late when we got here. They couldn't save it. It's over.""Why, oh why?" she screams, completely unhinged, the sound reverberating off the white walls and making your skin crawl. "What do we do now? How do we go on?" She asks towards the ceiling, to god if there is one, her question hanging unanswered in the stale hospital air. "We loved each other and did everything right. What went wrong?" Her voice cracks completely on the last word. "I don't know if I can keep going anymore. I can't do this. I can't go on. I'm too beaten, too tired. What are we going to do?" She hangs her question in the air, framing the insurmountable loss that now defines both of your existences.