Takes A Walk

You let me die in our living room and then changed the channel.

That’s the first thought I have as I open my eyes, surrounded by a haze of antiseptic and soft fluorescent lights.

I know this ceiling.

The sharp white tiles. The subtle hum of the overhead vent. The curtain tracks rattling softly. I know the scratch of these sheets, the quiet rhythm of the monitors. The steady, high-pitched beep of a machine beside me tells me I’m still here, alive, for now.

I’m in the hospital. My hospital. My workplace.

The one I walk into every morning in scrubs with a badge around my neck. The one where I’ve held hands of dying patients, cried with families, celebrated newborns.

But this time, I’m the one in the bed. A different kind of silence settles over me. Heavier and thicker.

I try to move my arm, but everything aches. My skin feels too tight. My chest too hollow. I blink slowly, my eyelids heavy as sandbags.

Someone clears their throat. A familiar voice. “Camila. You’re awake.”

I turn my head barely. It’s Dr. Lin.

One of the good ones. Someone I’ve worked under during countless ER shifts. Someone who knows how to break bad news with gentle eyes.

But today, his face doesn’t soften. His lips press into a grim line as he pulls the chair closer to my bed.

“You gave us a scare,” he says.

I try to speak, but my throat burns. He pours me a cup of water and helps me sip.

Then he sits down and says the one sentence that splits my soul in half.

“Camila… you lost a baby.”

I stop breathing. I stare at him, waiting for him to take it back. To say it was a mistake. That they were wrong. That my baby’s heartbeat is still buzzing somewhere inside me.

But there’s only silence.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly. “You came in unconscious. Blood pressure was dangerously low. Your kidney had fully shut down and you went into a critical state. The strain was… too much.”

My hand instinctively moves to my belly. Still. Empty.

“No…” I disagreed. “No, I didn’t even get to—”

“I know,” he says. “I know how much you wanted this.”

I turn my face away. Tears burn hot trails down my cheeks. Not loud, just quiet, endless sorrow leaking out of me like blood from a wound no one can see.

I never told anyone. Not a soul. Not even him.

“If you had been brought in earlier,” Dr. Lin says gently. “We could’ve tried more aggressive interventions. We did everything we could, but by the time you were brought in…”

I stiffen. I lift my eyes. “Who brought me in?”

He pauses. “A man. Said he found you collapsed. Left you at the entrance, then disappeared. Didn’t give a name.”

It was not Matteo my husband. Not the man I gave up my heart to.

A stranger saved me and he didn’t.

They keep me another night for monitoring. I lie awake most of it, tracing invisible lines across the ceiling with my eyes.

I think about the baby that didn’t make it. A tiny heartbeat gone silent. A dream I held so quietly, so protectively now vanished without even a name.

I think about how I gave up a part of my body, my health, my peace just to please a man who couldn't even carry me to safety when I was dying on the floor of our home.

I think about how Alina always wins. But not anymore.

By morning, I sign the discharge papers.

The nurse tells me I should stay longer, but I can’t. Every hour here feels like another echo of everything I lost.

I step outside into the morning air. It’s grey, still the world keeps turning in my vision.

I take a cab home, the ache between my ribs growing louder with every block. The driver hums softly to the radio. I watch couples cross the street. A woman pushes a stroller. A man carries two coffees. Life goes on.

But mine doesn’t feel like living anymore. I arrive and the front door creaks open.

The same familiar scent of home hits me, lavender and cold indifference.

And there they are on the couch already giggling are Matteo and Alina.

She’s in one of my sweaters. He’s got his arm lazily thrown behind her headrest, scrolling through N*****x like he didn’t just walk away from me when I needed him the most.

I pause. I don’t say a word. I walk straight past them, into the bedroom.

My hands are steady. My body is still sore, but I move like I’ve already died once and come back.

Because I have.

I take out my suitcase. I pull open drawers. I start folding clothes, the shirt I wore on our anniversary, the scarf my mother gave me before she died, the soft pajama top I wore the night I took the pregnancy test.

I fold everything slowly, neatly. Every item holds a memory. But none of them are worth staying for.

I zip the suitcase shut. The sound is final. Like a lock turning.

When I drag it into the living room, Matteo finally notices.

“Where are you going?” he asks, blinking.

I meet his eyes, and for the first time in years, I don’t feel small under his gaze.

“I’m leaving.”

He sits up. “What? Why?”

I laugh. It’s bitter and soft, like wind rustling through a dying tree.

“Why?” I repeat. “Because you let me collapse on our floor and left me there. Because I lost our child while you were feeding popcorn to the woman you pretend isn’t your lover.”

His face changes. The shock is real. For once, words fail him.

“You were pregnant?” he says, barely above a whisper.

“Was,” I correct. “You didn’t just break me, Matteo. You destroyed the one thing that ever gave me hope.”

He stands now, mouth open, but no apology comes.

“You can be with her now,” I say calmly. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? You’ve already picked your side.”

Alina looks frozen, her lips parted mid-breath, as if unsure whether to act surprised or flattered.

“I’m done fighting for scraps,” I continue. “You two can rot in each other’s company. Just make sure the divorce papers are ready by next week. I’ll be back to sign them.”

“Camila, wait—” he finally says.

But I don’t. I roll the suitcase to the door. He doesn’t stop me. He just stands there.

Still. Speechless. As if he never expected me to find the strength to walk away.

A part of me hopes he feels a crack inside. A fracture of regret. But I’m done wondering.

I open the door and step out then close it behind me with quiet finality.

And as I descend the steps, I hear Alina behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist like nothing just happened.

“It’s okay,” she murmurs. “Let her go. She was never strong enough for you.”

And maybe she’s right. But the woman walking away now? She’s strong enough to never look back.

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