The hospital room was filled with silence—a silence that seemed to envelop everyone present. Angela stared at the ceiling, struggling to comprehend what had happened. She felt a weight in her chest, a blow she never expected to feel.
"I'm so sorry. The baby is gone," the doctor said softly, as if trying not to deepen the pain with each word.
Her hands trembled as she tried to touch her belly.
"Baby? Gone?" she whispered in disbelief, still clutching her stomach tightly.
Gone. The life she didn't even realize was inside her was now gone. An innocent soul she never even got to see, never got to hold, speak to, or show how much she loved them.
Tears fell from her eyes, but it seemed they weren't enough to ease the pain consuming her. It was as if a void suddenly opened in her soul—deep, dark, and empty.
"How did this happen?" she asked in barely a whisper. "Why... why didn't I even know?"
Her father came closer and gently sat beside her bed, holding her hand. The sorrow was clear on his face.
"Angela, sweetheart... this isn't your fault. No one wanted this to happen."
But it was her fault, wasn't it? She wasn't careful. She didn't notice. With everything on her mind, all the things she was running from, she neglected her own body. And now, a life was lost—an innocent life—because of her carelessness.
She remembered the nights she came home exhausted, the times she had no appetite, the sudden dizziness she ignored. She thought it was just fatigue from sleepless nights of studying, stress, jetlag from the trip—from when they left the Philippines for America.
All of those... were signs. But she didn't listen.
And now, it's gone.
She didn't just lose a child. She also lost the chance to love, care for, and start a new chapter in her life. She lost a symbol of her love with Darius—a love now stained with questions, pain, and regret.
She remembered that night—the conversation she accidentally overheard.
"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone what really happened between us."
"You won't tell because nothing happened between us, Jenna!"
"Really, Darius? Not even the kiss we shared?"
"You're ridiculous! I didn't kiss you! You kissed me, Jenna!"
It wasn't all clear, but it was enough to shatter the trust in her heart.
A gentle knock interrupted them. Gelo entered, worry evident on his face. When their eyes met, she immediately felt the sorrow in her younger brother's gaze.
"Ate..." he said softly, unsure how to start. "Is it true?"
Angela didn't need to answer. Tears simply fell down her cheeks as Gelo slowly walked toward her and hugged her tightly. They both broke into sobs.
"A-Are you going to tell Kuya?" he asked, filled with hesitation.
Angela couldn't answer right away. Her mind had no space for decisions. The pain was still too raw.
"Sweetheart, enough crying for now," their father reminded them gently, stroking both siblings' hair. "Crying won't do you good. You need to rest."
"Gelo, your sister needs to rest. We'll think later about when and how we'll tell Darius everything," he added, his words heavy with sorrow.
The world felt unbearably heavy, and she didn't know how she could rise from this… all three of them, along with her two children.
Days passed...
After Angela was discharged from the hospital, the entire apartment felt foggy and silent. The usual laughter was gone. No more teasing, no more playful banter. Even the simple call to eat seemed to have vanished into the air.
The curtains were open but lifeless, letting in a dim light from outside. Dirty glasses and mugs sat on the table; plates left unwashed. It was as if even the house itself was mourning.
She barely left her room except when absolutely necessary. Even food didn't appeal to her. There were days she just lay in bed all day, staring at the ceiling, thinking of nothing, but feeling an unbearable weight in her chest.
At night, her only companions were the soft chirping of birds, the distant sound of traffic, and the steady beat of her aching heart.
One night, as she sat on the edge of her bed, she heard the door quietly open. Dylan, her cousin, walked in. He slowly approached and sat beside her.
"I know it's hard, Gel," he said gently. "But we're here. You don't have to go through this alone."
She closed her eyes. She wanted to believe it. She wanted to embrace the truth that she wasn't alone. But for now, all she could do was cry—not because she wanted to, but because she couldn't stop it.
"Kuya..." she whispered.
"Let it all out, Gel. We're here. We love you—your whole family does."
She didn't reply. No words came out of her mouth. But her heart gave in. The tears she'd been holding back finally fell. Dylan felt the weight she couldn't release, so he let her cry while gently rubbing her back.
"That's why we're always here for you, no matter what happens," Dylan added.
A few minutes later, Gelo peeked through the door, followed by Gregory, Dylan's younger brother. They quietly entered and sat on the floor—beside the bed, at her feet. Gelo brought a pillow to hug, and Gregory held a box of tissues.
No lectures. No questions. No pressure.
Just their presence—a quiet reminder that she is loved, even in her brokenness.
And there, submerged in the darkness of her grief, she was slowly being wiped clean by the light of love. Quietly, gently, and sincerely.
And in that moment, she realized... maybe, just maybe, she could rise again. Not today. Not tomorrow. But someday, when she's ready. And when that day comes, she knows there will be hands ready to guide her back into the light.