~Lyra~

Something’s wrong with the baby.

No. No. No. No. No.

That’s not something you just say. That’s not something you say like you’re commenting on the weather or asking if I’ve been nauseous.

You don’t press your stupid, gloved hand on my belly and say that something is wrong like it’s just a normal fucking Tuesday.

What the fuck does that even mean? What is wrong? What do you feel? Why aren’t you saying anything? Why are you pressing and pausing and blinking like you didn’t just rip my entire chest open with five fucking words?

And why is Damon so still?

I can’t look at him.

I can’t....