The house hadn't changed.
Everything looked the same. The walls, the bed, the dresser.
But Earn wasn't. And that was the cruelest part.
It had been days since the incident. Earn sat on the edge of the bed in soft pajamas. The framed sonogram still sat untouched on the dresser, a reminder of what was lost. Her hands were motionless in her lap, as if even the smallest movement might shatter her completely.
Outside, the rain poured relentlessly, slamming against the roof in waves. Thunder cracked in the distance, rumbling low and long, like an echo of the storm inside her.
Fahlada stepped into the room, pausing at the doorway. Her clothes were damp from the rain; strands of hair clung lightly to her skin. She'd kept herself busy outside, tending to the typhoon-wrecked garden. In her hands, she held a glass of water and a plate of sandwiches, which she carefully placed on the nightstand beside Earn.
"You haven't had anything since yesterday. Please… at least take a sip of water," she said softly, her voice full of concern for her wife.
Earn didn't look at her. Her gaze was fixed on the wall, staring blankly into nothing.
She didn't want food. She wanted silence. Or maybe she wanted the kind of noise that could drown everything out.
Fahlada knelt beside her and gently reached for her hand, trying to draw her attention.
"Earn… talk to me. Tell me what you're feeling. Anything…"
A long moment passed before Earn turned slowly toward her. The silence pressed between them. When Earn finally spoke, her voice came out flat and brittle, a sharp contrast to Fahlada's gentle tone.
"What do you want to hear?"
"I just want to know how you feel… or how I can help, my love," Fahlada said tenderly, her eyes searching Earn's.
"No… nothing can make me feel better," Earn muttered, her voice cracking as she buried her face in her hands.
"I don't want to go through this again. Every time I think it'll be different, it always ends the same."
Fahlada moved closer, wrapping her arms around her wife. Earn stayed rigid, unable to let comfort in, as if the embrace only reminded her of how far away she felt.
Her thoughts kept drifting around the room. The puzzle sat unfinished on the table, its edges curled from neglect, a trace of days when life felt whole. The baby clothes, once folded with hope, were now tucked away in drawers. Beneath the bed, the Doppler lay hidden in its box, a constant reminder of the heartbeat that would never return.
Out of sight, but never from her thoughts.
"I keep dreaming about them… and I can still hear the heartbeat. Sometimes, we're back in the clinic, and everything's fine. I'm still… pregnant," Earn said as she pulled away from Fahlada's hug.
"And then I wake up," she added, looking into Fahlada with hollow eyes.
Fahlada was astounded and couldn't find any comforting words to offer.
What more could she say that Earn hadn't already heard?
Over the past few days, she had given everything she could, even stepping away from the hospital expansion committee, staying by her wife's side as much as possible to show she wasn't alone.
This time, she wanted to be better for Earn, to prove they could face this crisis together again.
Fahlada reached for Earn's hand again, more slowly this time, every movement tinged with hesitation. But Earn, torn between needing support and needing distance, gently pulled her hand away and stood up abruptly.
"It hurts more when you act like it's nothing!" Earn words were trembling, rising into a near shout that collided with the rolling thunder.
"Stop pretending!"
Fahlada stared at her, worry etched across her face, and tried to speak, but Earn interrupted, leaving her words hanging in the air.
"Please don't tell me it's going to be okay. Not right now." She clenched her fists in her lap, struggling to keep herself composed.
"I won't, because I know that nothing is okay. So… I'm not pretending," Fahlada managed, her voice thick with held-back tears. She placed a gentle hand on Earn's shoulder.
"I'm just trying to be strong. For both of us."
Earn stepped back, studying Fahlada closely. Her wife's clothes were soaked and streaked with dirt from the storm. The typhoon had left them with no helpers; everyone had returned to their own families, even her mother. Exhaustion was etched into Fahlada's face, her eyes sunken and her frame thinner than before.
Still, Earn didn't look away, her gaze steady despite the storm that raged outside and the one tearing through them.
"I don't need you to be strong," she said, biting her chapped lip until it bled a little, her words shaking with fury and despair as she tasted her own blood.
"I need to know I'm not the only one falling apart, because I can't do this anymore!"
She staggered toward Fahlada and grabbed her wife's shirt, her fingers shaking, clinging to her as if the touch might ease even a little of the ache consuming her.
"You're probably… mad at me. I'm… sorry…" Earn's words cracked, spilling out between ragged breaths. Her swollen eyes fixed on Fahlada, pleading.
"Because I know it's my fault. So say it. Just say it's my fault…"
Fahlada's gaze locked onto Earn's, and she saw the depth of hurt in her eyes. She lifted her hand, wanting to cup her wife's face and ease that pain. But when Earn met her look, she saw something she didn't want to see.
With a sharp movement, Earn slapped Fahlada's hand away, her voice breaking as she shouted, "Curse me, goddammit!"
Fahlada gasped softly, her eyes wide with shock. She instinctively cradled her stinging hand, fingers trembling as she held it close to her chest. The pain was sharp, but it was the sudden shift in Earn's emotion that truly stunned her; her rage, her desperation.
"I—I can't handle this anymore… This house. You. Me. I don't know… anymore…" Her hands automatically pulled at her hair until her scalp burned, as if pain could quiet the noise in her head.
"Why won't you curse me?! You just stand there like it's fine, like it doesn't hurt you at all. You're okay with it, aren't you? You don't blame me because… maybe you never really wanted children!"
Earn's heart convulsed as she shoved her wife, her grief folding in on itself. Her voice splintered under the pressure of everything she could no longer contain, and Fahlada froze in place.
The words struck her like a blow: "You never really wanted children!"
It wasn't just an accusation; it was a denial of everything Fahlada had ever dreamed of.
All she wanted was a child, a home, a quiet life filled with warmth and laughter with Earn.
She looked at Earn, the woman she loved, now standing before her like a stranger, her face twisted with grief and rage. Fahlada's hand still throbbed from the slap, but the pain was nothing compared to the ache in her chest.
How could she speak now? How could she say that she had imagined their child's smile, their tiny hands, the way Earn would hold them close?
They had lost that dream… twice.
'As long as Earn is alive,' she thought, 'there's still a chance for happiness.'
But not like this. Not with Earn drowning in guilt and anger.
"Please… I deserve it…" Earn sobbed. "Say it's my fault! Just say it!" The words tore out of her like a knife.
She didn't even know what she wanted anymore: punishment, relief, or just something to make everything stop.
Fahlada still didn't answer. Her silence wasn't indifference; it was the only way she knew how to keep from breaking too.
She just stared, and that silence tore into Earn like a blade. Her stomach twisted, knots of dread and helplessness coiling tighter with every heartbeat.
'Why won't she say it? Why won't she hate me?'
Fahlada's lips parted, then closed again. Her hands trembled at her sides, curling into fists before loosening. Her jaw tightened like she was holding back a scream. For a second, her eyes hardened, and Earn thought, 'There it is, the simmering fury.'
But then Fahlada slumped to the floor in front of her, shoulders sagging, her face soft and defeated. When she spoke, her voice was breaking apart like thin glass.
"I can't…"
"I won't say it… because it's not true. And you know it."
Earn stared at her, heart pounding. 'Not true? Then why does it feel like it is? Why does it feel like I ruined everything?'
Now, all Earn saw in Fahlada's face was pity. Not anger, not shared grief, just pity.
The kind you give someone who has already lost. And that hurt more than any blame ever could.
"Don't do that…" she snapped, backing up until her hand slammed against the nightstand, sending the plate of sandwiches crashing to the floor.
Fahlada rose instinctively, ready to shield her wife from the shards, but Earn didn't hesitate to step on it, the sharp crash echoing her indignation.
"Stop looking at me like that!"
Fahlada went rigid, her eyes fixed on Earn's foot, expecting blood, but there was none. Relief bloomed within her the moment she realized it hadn't hurt her wife.
But Earn wasn't having it… that look.
The one that held more caution than connection, it was the look of a doctor assessing damage, not a wife reaching for her partner.
Earn seized the glass of water and hurled it toward Fahlada, the liquid shattering against the floor as she shouted, "I'm not your burden to carry! I'm not your patient… I'm your wife!"
Her shoulders quivered as the words left her, frustration burning beneath her skin, as if even this outburst might not be enough to reach Fahlada.
"You wanted me to say something, right? You wanted to know how I feel, right? Well, there—you have it!"
Earn let out a weak, broken smile, almost an admission of defeat, as she moved to sit on the bed, looking at Fahlada. Her mind was clouded with too many thoughts, and none of them were kind, leaving her stranded between anger and exhaustion.
She almost whispered, 'I love you… so much, but how did it come to this?'
Fahlada had no words left.
Reticence felt safer than any reassurance, even as the torment inside her churned, knowing that anything she said could only cause more pain.
Instead, she stepped forward, not even flinching as a shard of glass cut into her foot, pain that meant nothing compared to the weight her wife was carrying. She wrapped her arms around her, holding on even as Earn tried to push away and hurt her physically, never letting go, not even if she hated her.
Finally, Earn gave in to the embrace and wept.
They stayed like that, holding each other, while Earn's sobs blended with the relentless patter of rain at the lake house.
That night, they lay in the same bed, but Earn turned away. Every time Fahlada tried to reach out, Earn threatened to leave, and with the typhoon howling outside, she couldn't risk it.
So, she stayed still, silently surrendering to the distance between them.
No hands reached across the mattress. No whispered goodnights.
The storm raged on, rain drumming against the windows. Lightning flashed, illuminating the room in brief, harsh bursts, revealing two people who loved each other but were beginning to lose their way.