He is gone, leaving me in pieces. For days, I have lain broken now.

No sense of time or place.

Curtains drawn, in darkness, in grief.

Falling in love was a mistake. A bigger one was to marry him.

I tell myself.

But my heart whispers, “You are doing a bad job at convincing yourself.”

And today, I look at the two pink lines, and something stirs in my heart.

A tiny hope. A little bit of faith.

Even a raging fire, destroying everything in its path, always leaves at least one thing intact in its ashes.

His death was the fire.

The tiny life inside of me is what it has left behind.