He took a breath and pulled down the mask fully. “I’m so sorry. We did everything we could, but...the baby. The little girl didn’t make it.”
“A…a girl?” Lila’s knees buckled, and Reva reached for her, guiding her back to the chair.
Dr. Reyes crouched slightly so they were eye-level. “Your daughter experienced a placental abruption. It happens when the placenta detaches from the uterine wall prematurely. It can lead to severe bleeding for both mother and baby. In Camille’s case, it was rapid and complete.”
Lila stared at him, the words slamming into her like a physical blow. “But she’s—Camille?”
“She’s stable,” he said quickly. “We managed to stop the bleeding. She’s going to be okay. She doesn’t know yet. We’re waiting until she’s more fully awake.”
He hesitated. “We’ll know more on the cause after some test results come back, but suffice it to say there was little we could do. I’m sorry.”
Lila felt her body tremble. Her baby girl had lost her baby. A granddaughter she would never hold. A future that had just been ripped away before it even began.
Reva knelt in front of her, tears sliding silently down her cheeks. Charlie Grace and Capri stood close, hands on her shoulders.
There were no words. Only grief, raw and heavy, settling over them like a storm cloud with no break in sight.
15
The hallway outside Camille’s room was quiet, hushed under the low hum of fluorescent lights. A nurse gave Lila a small nod as she passed, chart in hand. “She’s awake.”
Lila paused just outside the door, her hand resting on the handle. She wasn’t sure she was ready. She wasn’t sure Camille was ready. There was no blueprint for this kind of grief. Only love, and the aching pull to be near her daughter.
She eased the door open.
Camille was propped up against a stack of pillows, IV line in her arm, her skin pale against the hospital sheets. Her eyes—so much like her father’s—met Lila’s with a flicker of something unreadable. Not softness. Not quite anger. Something sharper. Wounded.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Lila said gently as she stepped inside.
Camille turned her face toward the window. “They told me.”
Lila’s breath caught. “I’m so sorry.”
A brittle laugh escaped Camille’s throat. “Yeah, well. What’s done is done.”
“Camille—”
“There’s nothing keeping me here now.” Her voice was clipped, her gaze still fixed on the glass. “I’ll call the university next week. Tell them I’m coming back. It’s not too late to join the fall semester. I guess I should’ve never left.”
Lila stepped closer to the bed. “Honey, it’s okay to feel however you feel, but maybe give yourself a little time?—”
“No.” Camille turned then, her face stark with defiance. “You don’t get it. I had plans. Big ones. This baby—” her voice caught, just for a second, then she swallowed it down, hard— “was never supposed to be part of the story. I let myself think I could do both. Be a mom and still chase a dream. But she must’ve known…”
Lila sat in the chair beside her and reached for her hand. “You’re in shock. You’re hurting. And it’s okay to not know what to feel right now.”
Camille yanked her hand away. “Don’t.”
Lila blinked, stung, but didn’t move. “You’ve always had fire, Camille. You came into this world strong-willed and fearless. And you faced the unthinkable with your dad. All while remaining sweet…remaining you. I love that about you. But you don’t have to be strong right now. You don’t have to know what’s next today.”
Camille looked down at her lap, the bravado wavering.
“I know what it’s like to lose something you didn’t expect to forfeit,” Lila said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You think charging ahead will dull the ache. But it won’t.”
A long silence passed between them.
Finally, Camille spoke. “I feel empty.”
Lila reached out again, slower this time, her palm open on the edge of the bed.
