CHAPTER 62 — WAKING TO LOSS
The room was silent, except for the soft beep of the heart monitor beside Auri's bed. The fluorescent lights glared down on the sterile hospital room, and the smell of antiseptic clung to every corner. Dante had not moved from his chair since the announcement. His eyes were red and puffy, his hands clutched tightly around Auri's own, as though letting go might erase her from the world entirely.
Hours passed—or maybe minutes—time had lost its meaning. He didn't notice the nurses changing shifts, or the doctors passing by with concerned glances. His world had shrunk to the pale, unconscious woman in front of him and the empty, silent void where their child should have been.
Then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, Auri's eyelids fluttered. Her breathing was shallow and hesitant. Dante's head snapped up, eyes wide with hope, and he whispered, almost in disbelief, "Auri… you're awake… my love… please… please tell me you're okay."
Auri's eyes opened fully, a dull, red-rimmed gaze that immediately filled with tears. "Dante…" she croaked, her voice trembling, her lips quivering. She tried to lift her hands but found them weak, and Dante rushed to support her.
"I'm here," he said, voice breaking, leaning closer. "I'm right here. Look at me. You're going to be okay, Auri. I've got you."
Auri's tears spilled freely. "It's… it's my fault, Dante…" she sobbed. "I… I shouldn't have slipped… I shouldn't have… I… I failed our baby…"
Dante's heart broke in two. He shook his head violently. "No, no, Auri! Don't say that! You didn't fail anyone! It wasn't your fault, not ever. You're alive. You're here… and I'm here. We'll get through this together, I promise."
She buried her face in his chest, trembling violently, her sobs shaking him to his core. "I should have been more careful… I should have… I should have protected her…"
Dante pressed her close, cradling her head against his shoulder. "Stop it. Stop blaming yourself. You were careful. You were brave. You're still my amazing, strong Auri. Our baby… our little angel… it's gone, yes. But it's not because of you. Don't you dare think that."
Auri shook her head violently, tears spilling onto his chest. "But… Dante… I felt her move… every day… I was supposed to keep her safe… I let her go…"
"I know," Dante whispered, voice raw with grief. "I know how much you loved her. I know how much you fought to protect her. And that's why we can't give up now. You're still here, Auri. I'm still here. And I swear to you… we'll get through this. Together."
Auri pressed her face harder into his chest, sobs racking her body. She was wracked with guilt, grief, and shock, unable to believe that the tiny life she had nurtured for months was gone. "I… I wanted her so badly… Dante… I wanted to be a mother…"
Dante's own tears fell freely now, streaking down his cheeks. He held her close, feeling her pain as his own. "I know, Auri. I wanted them too. I wanted to be a father, and you… you were going to be the most incredible mother. I loved her too… oh, God… I loved her so much."
For a long moment, neither spoke, just holding each other, letting their grief bind them together. Auri's body shook with sobs, her guilt piercing her heart like a dagger. Dante's hands were everywhere, holding her, stroking her hair, whispering apologies and promises he could barely form.
"I can't… I can't believe she's gone…" she whispered, broken, her voice barely audible. "I feel… empty… and so… so guilty…"
"You didn't do this, Auri. You didn't. You are not guilty," Dante said, voice desperate, shaking with anguish. "It's not your fault, not ever. Please… don't carry this pain alone. Not when I'm here. Not when we're together. We'll remember her… we'll honor her… but we cannot let this destroy us."
Auri shook her head again, burying deeper into his chest. "I keep imagining… imagining her tiny hands, her tiny face… I should have protected her… I should have… I should have done something…"
Dante's hand stroked her hair gently, though his own chest shook with tears. "Listen to me, Auri… our love isn't gone. That little angel… she lived in us, in our hearts… and we will never forget her. But blaming yourself… torturing yourself… it will not bring her back. What we can do is survive this together. That's all we can do."
She sniffled, leaning back slightly to look into his eyes, her own red-rimmed and swollen. "I… I don't know if I can… if I can handle this, Dante. I feel… empty… like a part of me is ripped away…"
He cupped her face in his hands, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Auri… look at me. You are my heart. You are everything I have. And I need you to stay… to breathe… to live. For yourself, for me… for us. We'll carry the memory of our baby with love, but we cannot let this pain consume us. Not completely. Not together."
"I… I feel like I failed you… failed us…" she whispered, voice cracking.
"You could never fail me, Auri. Never. Not ever. I love you… and I loved that little life too… and nothing can change that love. Nothing. Not even this tragedy. You are still my everything. You are still my family."
She sobbed again, clutching him tightly, tears soaking his shirt. "I… I can't stop crying…"
"Then cry," he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers. "Cry as much as you need. I'll cry with you. I'll carry this with you. But know… know that I am here. I'm not leaving. I am never leaving."
Auri felt her body shiver against him, grief and sorrow coiling inside her. She could not imagine facing the empty nights without Dante. Every tear was a reminder of the little life they had lost, but also a reminder of the love that still remained, unbroken, and fierce.
"You… you're so strong, Auri," Dante whispered, voice raw. "I know it doesn't feel like it. I know you feel like the world is ending. But you're still here. You're still fighting. And I… I will fight with you. Always."
"I… I don't know if I can…" she whispered, breaking again.
"Yes, you can," Dante said firmly, brushing her tears away. "And you will. Because I'm not going anywhere. And I promise… we will honor our baby, we will grieve… but we will also survive. Together. I love you, Auri. I love you more than anything."
Auri's tears fell freely, her body trembling against him, but amidst the sorrow, she clung to his words, to his presence, to the warmth of him holding her. For the first time since the accident, she felt a tiny flicker of relief, knowing that, even in this storm of grief, she was not alone.
"I… I love you too, Dante," she whispered, voice hoarse. "Even if… even if I lost them… I love you… I love you both… and I'm so sorry… I'm so, so sorry…"
Dante pressed a final kiss to her hair, holding her as tightly as he could. "You don't need to be sorry… never. Not ever. You are perfect… you are everything I need… everything I have. We'll get through this. We will. I swear it."
And so, in the quiet hospital room, Dante held Auri as she cried herself into exhaustion, as they shared the unbearable weight of loss together. Though the future seemed uncertain, though the grief felt unending, their love remained—a lifeline in the midst of the storm.
Auri had lost the child, yes, but in Dante, she found the anchor to hold onto. And in her sorrow, she realized that no matter how broken they felt now, their hearts still beat together. They would grieve. They would mourn. But they would also survive. And together, they would face whatever came next.
The night stretched on. Outside, the world continued, indifferent to their pain. But inside, in that small hospital room, two hearts beat together, wounded yet unbroken, clinging to each other in the aftermath of unbearable loss.
Auri remained in Dante's arms, sobbing quietly, whispering apologies over and over, while Dante's own tears fell freely, his whispered reassurances mingling with her cries.
And in the middle of their grief, amidst the sorrow and heartbreak, a single truth remained: they still had each other.