Misery.
Mistake.
Mislead.
Misuse.
Misunderstood.
Misconduct.
Misconception.
Misfortune.
Miscarriage.
It wasn’t the call she was expecting.
The sympathetic nurse attempted to console her, “As soon as you want, you can start trying again.”
She positioned herself against the sink, the granite top acting as her only strength.
As the minutes passed she barely recognized her own reflection. Her eyes grimaced back at her, the shadows in the mirror reflecting the darkness poisoning her heart.
A desert growing inside her; the void filled with innumerable sorrows. Grief, guilt, distress, anger, sadness and gratitude undid her thoughts.
She watched her fingers clench and unclench, bracing herself before walking through the door, back into her world. It would see her as the same person, but she knew nothing would be the same, her soul broken. Her ankles were weak, but she forced a smile upon her lips.
Through the door, she walked, poised and charismatic as ever. But though the corners of her mouth were upturned, she couldn’t escape the sadness overwhelming the deep cavity in her heart.
Yes, before the day was I am he; and there is none that can deliver out of my hand: I will work, and who shall let it? (Isaiah 43:13).
