The unborn foetus died.

That little mass of conception, that tiny being of future possibilities and hardships and life itself had been snuffed out, like a candle blown out by the breath of Fate.

But I couldn’t blame Fate for what had happened. It was my own stupid fault.

Somehow, Ellis moved swiftly past the grief, despair and mourning that was to be expected and we came back home four days later.

But her calm exterior was merely a facade. An illusion. A deception.

Internally, her insides twisted in sadness, her heart felt like it had been torn into so many pieces, and her thoughts…

I didn’t want to hear what she thought.

But after that black-clad man had left our driveway, her unconscious thoughts began to whisper to me.

But those whispers quickly turned into loud mutterings.

Those mutterings turned into shouts.

And the shouts turned into screams.

Deafening.

All encompassing.

Never ending.

Screaming.

Furious screams.

White-hot, rage filled screaming.

And all of it directed at me.