**Whispers Behind the Glass**
The nurse, a woman with a weary, weathered face and eyes dulled by years of witnessing others suffering, shifted Alices plastic bag awkwardly from one calloused hand to the other. The rustle of the plastic cut through the tomb-like silence of the lift. Inside the bag, like a cruel joke, lay the brightly coloured remnants of baby clothesa tiny pink jumpsuit with rabbits, a onesie embroidered with *”Mummys Little Joy”*, and a pack of nappies in white and blue trim, boldly labelled *”Size 1″*for newborns, for those just beginning their journey.
The lift creaked as it descended, its old cables groaning, and with each floor, Alices heart clenched tighter, shrinking into a small, helpless knot of pain.
“Itll be alright, love,” the nurse rasped, her voice brittle and hollow, like the squeak of an unoiled hinge in an empty house. “Youre young, strong. Youll have others. Things will work out They always do.”
She shot Alice a fleeting, sidelong glance, full of awkward sympathy and an eagerness to end this unbearable descent.
“Any other children?” she asked, desperate to fill the thick, suffocating silence.
“No” Alice exhaled, staring at the blinking floor buttons. Her voice was empty, lifeless.
“That makes it harder,” the nurse murmured. “Whatve you decided? Burial or cremation?”
“Well bury her,” Alice said flatly, turning away, her lips pressed white. Her gaze sank into the scratched, grimy mirror of the lift, reflecting a face she barely recognisedpale, hollow.
The nurse sighed, almost professionally. Shed seen thousands like Aliceyoung, old, broken. Life in these walls was divided into *before* and *after*. And for Alice, *after* had just begun.
She was leaving the hospital alone. No celebratory bundle swaddled in pink or blue ribbons. No happy gurgles from beneath carefully tucked blankets. No smiles, no congratulations, no bewildered, joyful glances from family, no modest bouquets of carnations smelling faintly of winter. There was only her husband, Max, waiting at the foot of the hospital steps, his eyes heavy with guilt, his shoulders hunched as though bearing an unbearable weight. And the terrible, ice-cold emptiness inside her, ringing in her ears, stealing her breath.
Max hugged her stiffly, uncertainlylike a stranger afraid to hurt her further. His embrace didnt comfort. It was a formality, a ritual to be endured. Without farewells, without the silly, cherished photos by the hospital doors, they left in silence. The automatic doors hissed shut behind them, sealing away a chapter of their lives forever.
“Ive already erm” Max stammered, starting the car. The engine coughed to life with a dull, lifeless growl. “Been to the funeral directors. Those vultures. Got everything sorted for tomorrow. But if you want to make any changes I picked a small white wreath, and the coffins its beige, with pink” His voice cracked.
“It doesnt matter,” Alice interrupted, staring at the fogged-up window. “I cant I cant talk about this now.”
“Right. Erm” He cleared his throat, gripping the steering wheel tightly.
How cruelly bright the December sun shone, bouncing off puddles, dazzling her eyes, flashing off passing cars. It screamed of lifelife that was gone. Where was the wind? The lashing, icy rain? The wet, clinging snow, slapping her face like Gods punishment for all her sins? That would have been fair. That would have been honest.
They drove in silence past the checkpoint and onto the sunlit street. Alice glanced belatedly at the grime-streaked side of their car.
“Look how filthy it is”
“I meant to take it to the car wash. Three days ago, but then you know.”
“Are you ill?” Alice turned to him.
“No. Why?”
“You keep coughing.”
“Nah, just nerves. My throats tight from nerves.”
They drove on. The world outside hadnt changed. The same city, the same streets littered with cigarette butts, the same bare, skeletal trees against the grey facades of post-war houses. A shamelessly blue sky, not a cloud in sight. The rusted fence of a school, freshly graffitied with a love confession. Pigeons puffed up on telephone wires. The endless grey ribbon of tarmac leading nowhere. Everything was the same. And it was unbearable.
—
Back in her third month of pregnancy, Alice had felt unwell. First a sore throat, then fever, achesjust the flu, she thought. But the treatment had been strong. She worried, but the doctors assured her: the baby was safe. Afterwards, a strange rash appeared on her lower back. The specialist barely glanced before declaring it herpes and prescribing harsh antivirals. Guilt-ridden, Alice took them. They didnt help. Another doctor dismissed itjust allergies, stress! He gave her a harmless cream, and the rash faded. The scare was over. Alice breathed a sigh of relief, focusing on the due date, buying baby clothes, preparing the nursery.
On the big day, contractions started weakly, barely noticeable, but Alice, remembering the advice, went to the hospital.
“No dilation at all,” the midwife said after examining her. “False labour. We need to stop it before your cervix opens.”
They gave her an IV to suppress contractions. But they didnt stopthey grew stronger, more painful. Alice endured all night. By morning, she was dilating. They broke her waters.
“The watersare they clear?” Alice asked, forcing calm. Shed read everything about childbirth.
“Yes, clear, no infection,” they reassured her.
Another dripthis time to speed things up. Hour after hour. The pain became unbearable. Six hours in, the monitor showed the babys heartbeat slowing. “Hypoxia,” the midwife whispered. The doctor laid a hand on Alices sweaty forehead. “The babys struggling. We need a C-section.” Too exhausted to protest, Alice nodded.
The operation was quick, successful. A baby girl, crying, healthy. They held her uptiny, wrinkled face, dark hairand briefly placed her on Alices chest. And that was it. Five minutes of bliss. The next time Alice saw her daughter was a day later in intensive care, hooked to machines, a ventilator breathing for her. Blood trickled from the corner of her tiny mouth.
“Pneumonia,” the consultant said, avoiding her eyes. “Likely from infected amniotic fluid. The same bug you had while pregnant. Its hard to fight.”
On the third day, just as hope flickered, Alice sat in her room, desperately expressing colostrum, praying to every saint, every god. Max, for the first time in years, lit a candle in church. Then, spurred by superstition, they changed the babys namean old wives tale, but they clung to anything. They chose an old, strong name from the almanac.
And in that moment, as Alice fought for every drop of milk, certain her child would live, the consultant entered. He gently stopped her hand.
“Im so sorry, Alice,” he said, staring past her. The medical explanations blurred into one crushing truth: it was over.
—
Strangers faces flashed past in carsindifferent, rushing about their lives. There should have been three of them in that car. But it was just two again. Only now, a chasm lay between them.
*”Im so sorry”*what a stupid, meaningless phrase!* Alice seethed inside. *How do you live when the world has stopped? How do you breathe when everything is frozen in that one, shattered moment?*
Relatives murmured about suing, about justice. But Alice, drowning in grief, wanted none of it. Even moving took inhuman effort. She decided to return to work after New Yearsstaying home, surrounded by baby things she couldnt bear to discard, was madness.
They spent Christmas at her parents quiet, snow-covered village. The silence was deafening. On Christmas Eve, they lit the sauna, hoping to wash away the citys grime, the hospitals shadow. The men went firstMax and her father. Alice and her mother followed late, the heat soothing, smelling of birch and dry wood.
“You know, tonights for divination,” her mother said, fanning herself with a towel. “We used to gather with mirrors, candles trying to glimpse our future husbands.”
Alice inhaled the warm, healing air. Exhaustion tugged at her.
“Did it work?”
“Once” Her mother hesitated. “We set up two mirrors facing each other in the dark, waiting Then I thought I saw somethinga shadow moving in the reflection. We screamed and ran. Never tried again.” She smiled. “Fancy it now? Even just coffee grounds?”
“Not for the world,” Alice grimaced.
She helped her mother wash, then stayed behind alone. The sauna creaked, the embers glowed, the silence hummed. Drifting off
