Chapter 1: Sisters share things.

Jemma's POV.

-

Anna’s back disappears into the crowd of uniforms at the school gate, and the second she’s gone, I hit the gas and swerve the car toward the hospital - racing the pain that’s been building since I dropped her off.

It started after three sips of my morning tea, right as I was trying to coax two more spoonfuls of porridge into Jessica. She’d laughed at something, flinging a spoonful onto my blouse, and I’d laughed too, right up until the first cramp hit and stole the sound clean out of my throat.

Julian isn’t picking up.

By the time I cut the engine, a wave of dizziness slams into me from behind, hard enough that my forehead connects with the steering wheel and the horn blares into the parking lot.

“Ow-” I hiss, pulling back with my fingers pressing hard against my temple like I can push the throbbing out through my skin.

Getting out of the car costs me everything I have left. With one arm braced across my stomach, and wincing with every step, I drag myself toward the entrance of City Hospital.

Then something twists - sharp, tearing, low in my belly - and a yelp rips out of me before I can stop it. The world tilts faster than I can process.

“Ma’am!”

*

My fingers shake around the paper the gynecologist holds out to me. There’s something almost gentle in her expression, though I can’t tell anymore if that’s real or just something I’m reaching for so I don’t feel so entirely alone in this.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Hail.”

The words land like the final nail in something I didn’t even know I was building. I hadn’t known. That’s the part I can’t get past - I hadn’t even known I was carrying, not until my own body was already taking it back from me.

I come apart right there in the exam room, ugly and loud, the pain moving through me like rot.

I’ve lost a baby I didn’t know existed.

I curl into the bed, crying for a child I only just learned I’d been given. And the grief is exactly the same shade as it’s always been, dragging every old loss up with it.

I already know why. I’ve known since Anna - her birth left something in me that never quite healed right, something the specialists back then called “treatable”, “manageable”, if I ever wanted to try again properly. Every one of them, gentle and apologetic, told me the same thing in different words, “nothing more we can do here”.

I never questioned why we never seemed to find anyone who could. Perhaps, it was just my fate.

After the fifth failed attempt, I stopped trying on purpose. Told myself it was easier that way, it was safer for my own heart if nothing else. And then Lauren stepped in and gave me Jessica - she carried her for me when my own body couldn’t, and I’ve been nothing but grateful for it.

But...I want another child of my own, still. One carried by me. Just once.

My mother-in-law’s remarks have only sharpened over the years, her hunger for a male heir remains a quiet, constant threat sitting over my marriage. For her sake, and for my own broken hope, some stubborn part of me kept trying anyway, in secret, long after I told myself I’d stopped.

I didn’t even know this one had taken. And now it’s gone too.

A soft ping pulls me up out of the daze, my phone lighting up. I check it without much interest at first, easing myself upright against the pillow.

What’s this?

Pictures pop up one after the other - Lauren and Julian at the mall, when he’s supposed to be at the office and she’s supposed to be at the hair appointment I rearranged my whole morning to book her.

One photo holds my eye. Lauren, laughing, holding up a nude clutch.

The exact clutch Julian gave me for our anniversary this year.

How many times has it been now? Since we were children, Lauren has had a talent for wanting whatever I have - Toys, clothes, attention, and people.

I never minded, before. She’s my twin - fraternal, but still. Sisters share things.

My eyes stay on my husband’s face in the photo. Seven years married, and I haven’t seen him smile quite like that in longer than I want to admit. I keep looking until the sick feeling climbing my throat becomes too much, and I toss the phone onto the blanket, my whole body trembling again.

He’s shopping - with a woman whose wedding is in three days while his wife loses another child, alone.

I’m carrying this by myself. And he’s-

Ping!

Another picture.