No one talks about the moment after. After the doctor leaves. After the words settle in.
After your world quietly falls apart.
You’re just… there.
In a room that suddenly feels too quiet.
In a body that doesn’t feel like yours anymore.
Still pregnant,
but not.
Still holding on,
but already grieving.
And somehow,
you’re expected to get up,
get dressed,
and walk back out into a world
that has no idea
what just happened to you.
No one stops you.
No one prepares you.
You just leave…
carrying a loss
no one else can see.
And that moment?
It changes you
in ways you don’t even have words for yet.
You’re just… there.
In a room that suddenly feels too quiet.
In a body that doesn’t feel like yours anymore.
Still pregnant,
but not.
Still holding on,
but already grieving.
And somehow,
you’re expected to get up,
get dressed,
and walk back out into a world
that has no idea
what just happened to you.
No one stops you.
No one prepares you.
You just leave…
carrying a loss
no one else can see.
And that moment?
It changes you
in ways you don’t even have words for yet.
