Because of You

to. She had to learn to work alongside difficult circumstances and she had to avoid showing any scintilla of shock. She had to be able to walk into any room, and see any sight, without flinching. Illness and how it took shape: she could cope with that; it was the awful trauma on the faces of the visitors that stopped her heart more often than not, and their brave, unsuccessful efforts to hide it. The fear was visible in the eyes of wives and husbands, sons and daughters, all having to realize that their worlds might be about to change beyond all recognition, that yesterday was going to be vastly different to tomorrow. And that it was probably going to be worse.
Hope had often wondered how those people fared after they left the hospital, both through the front and back doors. They went home changed, but what happened then? Did they learn to live differently? Did they cope? She only knew the part of their stories that happened in this building, but she’d always wondered about that next crucial part.
And … here she was, glimpsing in the mirror a ghost of a person, shaken with shock, forced face down into a heap of horror and now looking back at her with unmistakeable injury. Her eyes had seen the worst sight she could ever imagine and she couldn’t understand how she would ever unsee it. The baby. The sleeping baby. The dead baby. The image was there forever. She could hardly keep herself together thinking about it for an instant, never mind having it seared into her heart forever. She wasn’t going to cope or be OK or be fine. She was going to be swallowed up by it. She was going to see it every waking moment and most sleeping moments. It was going to be torture, an unbearable torture.
Hope dressed quickly, trying to put aside any hurtful thoughts. As she leant down to pull up her skirt, she whimpered quietly. She heard the noise and knew she had made it, but was surprised to hear it. She stopped for a moment to calm herself, and it happened again.
‘Stop it. Stop it. Come on …’ she whispered to herself, and as she did, more of the little sobs surfaced, almost as though a hiccup and a cry had conspired together. Hope was emptying. She’d known it would happen soon, but she’d hoped she might have made it home first. She felt dizzy and helpless to contain it. All of the anguish inside her was bubbling up, wanting to explode, be acknowledged.
She sat down so as not to fall down, and she tried to piece herself together again. ‘Come on, Hope, get it together,’ she was repeating over and over, but she was full to the brim and her brain was not listening. Hope tried to think carefully, in an orderly way. It wasn’t working. Her mind wasn’t receiving the transmissions her heart was making. A trauma bomb had exploded inside Hope’s head. All normal thoughts or processes were utterly shattered. Her head was a skullful of splinters and her world was collapsing.
Hope clasped her chest. She knew that her heart was beating very fast. She had the distinct feeling it might actually burst. Was that what the breaking of a heart felt like?
The rending of a heart?
The ending of a heart?
Was it going to simply stop? And then, would she also … stop? For a tempting moment, she even embraced the idea. It would be better to be dead than to feel like this. This was terrifying. She wouldn’t be able to stand it much longer. Was she going mad? Was this what full-on crazy was like?
She wanted Isaac. She had to get to him as soon as possible.
If she could stand up. And walk. And talk. And seem ordinary.
‘Come on, come on, it’s gonna be OK … OK and fine, that’s what we are …’ She tried the mantra. ‘OK. Yes. And fine. OK and fine …’ And somehow she managed to finish dressing. She flung her last few items into the remaining bag. She held on to the walls, the bed and the cupboard to steady herself, and somehow, soothing herself all the while, she was ready to leave.
‘Shall I come with you down to the car?’ Fatu was standing in the doorway.
‘No, no. Seriously. I’m OK. Thank you, Fatu. Again.’ The two women hugged.
‘Don’t forget your coat, sista, it’s cold out there.’ Fatu took Hope’s red coat from the hook behind the door.
‘Yes. Good. Good. Goodbye …’ Hope said as she manoeuvred out of the door, awkwardly holding the overnight bag straps in one hand, her red coat in the other and her handbag over her shoulder. Off she went, out into the corridor, heading for the lifts and her escape from the graveyard of her beautiful daughter. She could feel the yelps rising inside her again, but she was determined to make it to the car.
No one who met her that morning would see that, in that moment, Hope was broken.
Hope was hopeless.

The Chance
Hope was hurrying down the corridor, anxious to make a swift exit, to leave here and somehow, eventually, convince herself that none of this had happened.
Her legs were carrying her along quite fast, although the quicker she moved, the more she felt the sharp pain between them; the sting was vicious.
But nothing compared to the earthquake happening inside her. Hope was split away from her real, true self. This wasn’t Hope rushing down the corridor; it was a mess in Hope’s flesh, parading as a normal human. She felt dizzy and disorientated, so she let her hand brush against the cool wall to steady her as she raced along. Her head was thumping; she could feel her pulse, beating too fast and irregularly, and her own confused blood swirling in her veins, hammering around in the chambers of her hurt heart. She was