Darkness swallowed her.
For a long, endless stretch of time, there was no sound—no pain, no light, no thought. Just the weightless void between life and death. Then, faintly, something broke through the silence.
A distant hum. The smell of smoke. The cold bite of rain.
Ciara's eyes fluttered open to a world blurred and spinning. Her ears rang, her head throbbed, and the taste of iron filled her mouth. When she tried to move, pain shot through her side, sharp and merciless. The car was wrecked—the front twisted into a tree trunk, steam hissing from beneath the hood.
For a moment, she didn't know where she was. Then memory rushed back in a wave. The road. The rain. Mike.
"Mike…" she whispered weakly, reaching for the passenger seat. It was empty. She was alone.
She forced the door open, collapsing onto the wet ground. Her vision dimmed, the world tilting in and out of focus. She tried to crawl, but the pain in her abdomen stopped her cold. Then she felt it—a sudden, searing pain low in her stomach.
Her hands trembled as she looked down.
Blood.
Not just from her head—on her thighs, her trousers.
A realization struck like lightning. "My baby," she gasped. Her voice broke into a scream. "Somebody! Help me! Please!"
Her cries vanished into the night, swallowed by the wind and rain. There was no answer—only the echo of her own voice fading into the emptiness.
She tried again, weaker this time. "Please… someone…"
Her body began to tremble uncontrollably. The blood loss was too much. Her head spun, and the cold crept through her bones. Her last thought before she blacked out was not of pain—but of Mike's face, smiling at her under the sunlight of their last morning together.
---
When she woke again, the world was different. The harsh smell of antiseptic filled her lungs, and a dull beeping rhythm echoed nearby. The walls were white. Her skin was pale. A nurse leaned over her, relief flashing in her eyes.
"She's awake," the nurse said softly. "Don't move, ma'am. You've been through an accident."
Ciara blinked, confused. "Where… where am I?"
"Saint Mary's Hospital," the nurse said. "You were found on the roadside last night. The officers said you were lucky to be alive."
Her lips trembled. "Mike. My husband. Did they find him?"
The nurse's expression shifted, uncertainty shadowing her face. "There was no one else at the scene, ma'am. You were alone."
Ciara turned her face to the wall, tears silently pooling in her eyes.
Alone. Always alone.
---
The days blurred together after that. Her sister, Naomi, came to visit, her face etched with worry.
"Ciara, you scared me half to death," Naomi said, sitting by her bedside. "You've been gone for days. We didn't know where you were."
Ciara didn't answer. Her gaze was fixed on the window, watching the rain trace lines down the glass.
"Why did you go out there?" Naomi asked softly. "You could've died."
Ciara's voice cracked. "Because I couldn't just sit and wait. Nobody's looking for him anymore. Someone has to."
Naomi sighed. "You have to let him go."
Her head snapped toward her sister. "Don't say that. He's alive. I know he is."
The silence that followed was heavy. Naomi reached for her hand, but Ciara pulled it away.
"You don't understand," Ciara whispered. "You didn't see him that night. He wasn't… himself. Something was wrong. He didn't even look at me the same way."
Naomi swallowed hard. "Sometimes people change, Ciara. Maybe he was struggling with something you didn't know about."
"Then why didn't he tell me?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "We were supposed to be together. Through everything."
---
When the doctor came later that evening, Ciara was staring blankly at the ceiling. He held a clipboard in one hand, his expression kind but cautious.
"Mrs. Benson," he began gently, "we need to talk about your condition."
She looked up, numb. "Condition?"
He hesitated. "You were pregnant, weren't you?"
Her heart stopped.
"You… lost the baby," he said quietly. "I'm very sorry."
The words shattered her. A sound escaped her—a cry that wasn't quite human, raw and broken. The doctor placed a hand on her shoulder, but she barely felt it. Her whole world had fallen apart twice in the span of months—first her husband, now her child.
She turned her face away, tears spilling freely. "Why?" she whispered to the empty room. "Why did you take them both?"
---
After she was discharged, Ciara returned to an empty house. Everything was exactly as she'd left it—the half-folded laundry, the picture of her and Mike on the mantel, the faint scent of his cologne clinging to the air.
She walked through each room like a ghost, running her fingers along the furniture, tracing the memory of a life that no longer existed.
In the bedroom, she sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the indentation where he used to lie.
Her phone sat silent on the nightstand. No messages. No missed calls.
Slowly, she reached into the drawer and pulled out a small wooden box. Inside were mementos—photos, a wristwatch, a seashell Mike had picked up for her on the beach during their vacation. She held it to her chest and closed her eyes.
"I'll find you," she whispered. "Even if it takes the rest of my life."
Outside, the rain had stopped. The night was quiet, still, and endless.
Somewhere in the darkness, the world kept moving on—but Ciara Benson remained frozen in her grief, haunted by the echo of a love that refused to die.