The headache woke her first. The shards of pain like nails grating across the length of her brain to the point tears stole from her lids and dribbled down her cheeks. Deven moaned and winced at the sting of raw tissue coating the inside of her throat. A chorus of beeps and buzzes echoed, and she blinked away the fog clouding her vision. A hospital room. She should’ve known by the stench of antiseptic permeating the air between the pale blue walls. The realization of her whereabouts had her eyes shutting as a tumble of memories came barreling back full force.

They were dead.

Despite the dull ache throbbing in her abdomen, Deven turned on her side and pulled her knees to her chest. The fetal position was somewhat comforting because it reminded her of her baby. No, babies. Plural. It had become they and they had become dead, all in a matter of hours. There was no preparation, no explanation. And poor Leslie had tried her best to offer her support. Miscarriages happen all the time. You did nothing wrong. Deven had quoted the same speech herself on many occasions. Except this time, she wasn’t the nurse, she was the patient. And these just weren’t some random babies. They were hers. So, the comfort had felt more mocking than genuinely sympathetic.

But Leslie was more tolerable than the rest of her coworkers. The news of Deven’s miscarriage was a hot topic and nurses revolved through her door for two days straight offering their disingenuous condolences and disguising their nosiness with concern. Deven hated being the subject of ridicule, yet again, but after a while, she was too heartbroken to care.

She toyed with a little piece of fabric from her sheet, not bothering to turn over or hell even respond for that matter, when there was a knock at the door. Whoever it was would just come on in. They always did, with or without her permission.

“Hey, Sis.” Kennedy’s voice floated across the room as she entered, closing the door behind her. Her sister had called damn near every hour on the hour through the duration of her stay, but this was her first time visiting.

She rounded the hospital bed, a rose and lilies bouquet in her arms. If it had been anyone else, Deven would have continued to ignore the person. But since this was her sister, she managed an appreciative smile.

“How are you feeling?” Kennedy asked.

“I’ve been better.”

“I know, Sis.” She placed the vase on the bedside table and glanced around the quaint hospital room for a chair she could pull close. Seeing none, she resorted to the pullout sofa near the window. A Nike duffle bag was slung over her shoulder which she sat beside her. “I stopped by your place and packed some stuff.” She gestured to the bag. “Change of clothes, toothbrush, snacks . . . I didn’t know how long they would keep you.”