Miscarriage

The hospital corridor stretched long and sterile, smelling faintly of antiseptic and morning coffee. Nurses wheeled carts, murmuring to each other in clipped tones. The hum of fluorescent lights vibrated above the tiled floor, echoing against the hush of footsteps and distant monitors.

Ayisha walked quickly, her flats tapping the linoleum. She had come to deliver a file Tessa had asked for or so she thought but as soon as she entered the ward, a cold weight sat in her stomach. A ...