Kamrynn’s POV
“I’m so sorry,” I say quickly, my own voice barely a whisper, guilt swelling inside me for having touched such a raw nerve. “I didn’t mean to-”
“It’s alright,” Rmonica interrupts gently, though her voice trembles. “You couldn’t have known.” She takes a deep breath, as if trying to steady herself, but I can see that the effort costs her. “My mate and I… we’ve been trying for so many years.” Her voice wavers, and she pauses, as though she’s pulling the words from some deep, dark place. “We’ve had so many moments of hope. You know, that spark that flares up with the first missed period, or the first flutter of a heartbeat on an ultrasound… Every time, I thought, ‘This is it. This is finally it.'”
Her gaze drifts toward the window, as if she’s looking far beyond it, back to all those moments of brief joy that ended in despair. “But each time… each time, it slipped away. I’ve had more miscarriages than I can count,” she continues, her voice breaking on the last word, “and every single one… every single one shattered a piece of me. I remember every due date that never came, every tiny flicker of life that I lost before I could even hold it in my arms.” Her breath catches in her throat, and she has to stop, pressing her trembling hands together as if to keep from falling apart.
“You see,” she whispers, her voice barely audible now, “I always dreamed of being a mother. Even when I was a little girl, I would wrap my dolls in blankets and pretend I was cradling my own child. I used to imagine what it would be like to hear a baby’s laughter echo through my home, to feel tiny fingers wrap around my hand.” Her lips tremble, her composure slipping further with every word. “To hear someone call me ‘mama’… But it’s never happened for us. Not even once.”
A tear slips down her cheek, and she wipes it away quickly, as though ashamed of showing such vulnerability. “Every time I thought it would be different, that the Moon Goddess would finally bless us, it ended the same way,” she continues, the bitterness in her voice impossible to miss. “The doctors would tell me to rest, that sometimes these things just happen. But how could I keep believing that? How could I keep hoping when each time, all I was left with was disappointment, emptiness, and grief so deep that it felt like it was swallowing me whole?”
Her hands clench into fists in her lap, her knuckles white. “I’d sit in the empty nursery we set up when we were still optimistic… when we still thought we would become parents any day. The crib stayed empty, the little blankets folded and untouched. I would just sit there and cry, wondering what I did to deserve this. I asked Selene why she blessed so many others with children but left me barren. Why did she give me the hope just to rip it away?”
I can feel my own eyes sting with tears. I know the pain of losing a child; I’ve experienced the agony of a miscarriage, but hearing Rmonica speak… It’s different. It’s deeper, sharper, like a wound that keeps being reopened before it can ever heal. I can’t imagine going through that heartbreak again and again, sixteen years of dashed hopes and relentless grief. I feel the weight of her struggle, and it settles heavily in my chest.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper again, but this time, the words feel hollow. How could ‘sorry’ ever be enough for what she has endured? “It’s not fair… It’s not fair that someone like you, who wants a child so badly… hasn’t been blessed.”
Rmonica gives a small, bitter laugh, though there’s no humor in it. “Fair?” she echoes. “I’ve long since stopped expecting life to be fair. There were times… dark times when I thought of giving up altogether. When I couldn’t bear to see another woman cradle her newborn or hear another friend share the news that they were expecting. It was like being crushed under a weight I couldn’t lift.” Her voice is a fragile whisper, each word a shard of broken glass. “My mate… he never stopped believing, never stopped hoping. But I felt like I was letting him down every time I failed. It’s one thing to bear the burden of my own brokenness, but to watch the light in his eyes dim each time… that was unbearable.”
She pauses again, taking a deep breath as if trying to regain some semblance of control. “Eventually, I… I started coming here,” she says, gesturing vaguely around the room. “I would volunteer in the obstetrics ward, helping out with the pregnant women. I thought that maybe if I poured my love and hope into others, if I helped bring other lives into the world, then perhaps… perhaps the Moon Goddess would look down on me and grant me the same blessing.”
Her voice is soft but carries the weight of countless silent prayers, the kind whispered late at night when all the world is asleep. “I would sit with the mothers during labor, hold their hands, and reassure them everything would be alright. I would help care for their newborns, all the while pretending that one day, it might be my turn. That maybe if I gave enough of my heart to others, the Moon Goddess would finally see my pain and reward me with a child of my own.”
The silence that follows is filled only by the faint hum of the monitors and the distant sounds of the hospital. I squeeze her hand tightly, feeling a shared grief that transcends words. “You’re stronger than I could ever be,” I murmur, my voice shaking with emotion. “I don’t know how you found the strength to keep trying, to keep hoping…”
Rmonica’s gaze meets mine, and there’s a flicker of resolve behind her sadness. “Hope is… a stubborn thing,” she replies, her lips trembling with the effort to smile. “Even when it’s beaten and bruised, it doesn’t die. It just hides in the quiet places of the heart and waits for a reason to emerge again.” She takes a shaky breath, then manages to bring back some of the light to her face. “But I suppose there’s no use dwelling on the past forever, is there?”
She sits up a little straighter, and I notice the faintest glimmer of hope in her eyes. “My wish is finally coming true,” she says, and this time, her smile is not so forced.
A surge of hope rises in my chest. “Are… are you pregnant?” I ask, unable to keep the eagerness from my voice.
Rmonica shakes her head gently, her eyes softening. “No,” she says quietly. “Not quite. But my dear friend-someone I’ve known since childhood-has offered to be a surrogate. She’s carrying my mate’s and my child for us.” Her voice wavers as she continues. “It’s not exactly how I imagined it… but it’s as close as I’ll ever come to holding my own child. It’s the greatest gift anyone has ever given me, and I’m just so grateful to finally have a chance.”
The depth of her gratitude and the quiet, tender hope in her eyes bring a lump to my throat. “Rmonica, that’s… that’s wonderful,” I breathe, my own heart swelling with happiness for her. “Congratulations. I… I’m so happy for you.”
Before I can say more, the door swings open, and Elara steps back into the room. She freezes for a moment, then quickly bows her head. “Luna Rmonica,” she says respectfully. “I didn’t realize you were here.”
I blink in shock, my mind struggling to process the title Elara just used. Luna? My gaze snaps back to Rmonica, the kind woman whose story of loss and hope had moved me so deeply. She’s the Luna of the Blue Bell Pack?!