**Whispers Beyond the Glass**
The nurse, a woman with a weary face and eyes dimmed by years of witnessing suffering, shifted Alices plastic bag from one calloused hand to the other. The crinkling of the polythene shattered the tomb-like silence of the lift. Inside the bag, as if in cruel mockery, lay tiny, colourful baby clothesa pastel-pink onesie embroidered with rabbits, a soft white bodysuit stitched with *”Mummys Little Joy”*, and a crisp blue-edged pack of newborn nappies, the bold number *”1″* stamped on the frontfor those just beginning their journey.
The lift groaned, its frayed cables shuddering as it descended, each floor marking another twist in the vice around Alices heart, squeezing it tighter until it was nothing but a raw, throbbing knot.
“Youll be all right, love,” the nurse rasped, her voice like the creak of an unoiled hinge in an empty house. “Youre young, strong. Therell be other babies. Time heals things get better.”
She cast Alice a quick, sidelong glancehalf pity, half resignationbefore filling the suffocating silence with another question.
“Got any other children?”
“No” Alice exhaled, staring at the flickering floor numbers. Her voice was hollow, lifeless.
“That makes it harder,” the nurse murmured. “Have you decided? Burial or cremation?”
“Burial,” Alice whispered, turning away, lips pressed bloodless. Her reflection in the lifts scratched mirror was a strangerpale, shattered.
The nurse sighed, a practised, weary sound. Shed seen countless like Aliceyoung, old, broken. Life here was divided into *before* and *after*. And for Alice, the *after* had just begun.
She was leaving the hospital alone. No pastel-wrapped bundle, no cooing under a knitted blanket, no proud, teary relatives with winter-fresh carnations. Just her husband, Ethan, waiting at the foot of the steps, shoulders slumped under an invisible weight, his eyes heavy with guilt. And the yawning, ice-cored emptiness ringing in her ears, stealing her breath.
Ethan hugged her stiffly, awkwardly, as if afraid his touch might wound her further. His arms didnt warm her. It was a ritual, a duty. No photos by the doors, no sentimental fussjust silence as they walked away. The automatic doors hissed shut behind them, sealing away a chapter of their lives.
“Ive been to erm” Ethan cleared his throat as the engine growled to life, a dull, lifeless sound. “The funeral directors. Everythings arranged for tomorrow. White wreath, small the coffins beige, with pink” His words choked off.
“It doesnt matter,” Alice cut in, staring at the fogged-up window. “I cant not now.”
“Right. Erm” He coughed again, gripping the wheel.
How dare the December sun shine so brightly? It glared off puddles, off passing cars, shouting about life where there was none. Where was the wind, the lashing sleet, the spiteful slush clinging to her face like Gods own scorn? That wouldve been fair. Instead, they drove past the hospital gates into a world unchangedsame grimy streets, same grey council blocks, same pigeons puffing up on wires. The sky was mercilessly blue.
**—**
Alice had fallen ill in her third monthsore throat, fever, aching bones. Just the flu, shed thought, but the rash that followed sent her to specialists who dismissed it as stress. By her due date, when contractions began, the midwife insisted it was false labour. But the drugs meant to stop it failed. After hours of agony, they broke her watersclear, they said, no infection. Then the monitors screeched. The babys heart was slowing.
“C-section,” the doctor said.
It was quick. Her daughter was borntiny, dark-haired, crying. They placed her on Alices chest for five perfect minutes before whisking her away. The next time Alice saw her, she was in intensive care, tubes snaking from her mouth, blood trickling from her lips.
“Pneumonia,” the consultant muttered, avoiding her eyes. “Likely from infected fluid. One of the bugs you had while pregnant.”
For three days, Alice pumped milk, praying to every saint she knew. Ethan lit a candle in church. Then the consultant entered her room, gently stilling her hand.
“Im so sorry, Alice.”
The words dissolved into medical jargon, but the meaning was clear. It was over.
**—**
The world outside the car window blurredstrangers in their own worlds, unaware. There shouldve been three of them in that car. Now there were two. And between them, a chasm.
*”Im so sorry”what a useless, hollow phrase!* Alice seethed inside. *How do you live when the world has stopped?*
Relatives muttered about suing the hospital, but Alice had no fight left. By New Years, she and Ethan escaped to her parents snowy village. On Christmas Eve, they heated the old brick saunato wash away the city, the hospital, the grief.
Late that night, Alice sat alone in the warmth, listening to the creak of cooling wood. Exhaustion pulled her under, and she dreameda sunlit nursery, a white crib, her daughter inside. Alive. Smiling.
“*Mummy,*” the baby whispered in a voice too clear, too wise. “*Dont cry. Youll have another daughter. Call her Sophie. Ill always be with you.*”
Alice woke gasping, tears hot on her cheeks. The weight on her chest had cracked, just a little.
**—**
Time did its work. Alice returned to her job, to life. Doctors warned herno pregnancy for two years. But fate intervened. She fell pregnant eighteen months later. When antibiotics were prescribed, something stopped hera silent command. The GP urged termination, family called her reckless, but Alice refused.
Then, the morning she was to book the abortion, half-asleep, she heard itthe voice from her dream, thunderous in her skull:
*”DONT YOU DARE!”*
She never looked back. Ultrasounds, tests, warningsshe endured them all. Two weeks before the birth, a new woman was admitted to her ward.
“Im Alice,” she said.
“Im Sophie,” the woman smiled.
Alice froze. That was the name from the dream.
“Sophie what does it mean?”
“Oh, its Greek,” the woman laughed. “*Wisdom.* But my gran always said it meant *hope reborn.*”
Alices fingers went slack. A sign. Undeniable.
She gave birth easily. A healthy, screaming girlher Sophie. Her hope reborn.
As they left the hospital in March, sunlight glinted off the car roof. Alice shielded the babys face, then smiled up at the sky, her heart singing.
*Thank you, my little guardian. Thank you for my Sophie.*
