Chapter 3

"Doctor, please, how is my friend?" she asked, her voice trembling. Her eyes were already red from all the tears she had shed.

The doctor sighed, his eyes flicking down to the clipboard in his hands before meeting her gaze. "She's stable now," he said slowly, "but she might find it difficult to conceive again. She's lost too many babies in too short a time."

His words struck her like a physical blow, and the tears she had been holding back spilled over, cascading down her cheeks.

The doctor gave her a sympathetic nod before turning and walking away, his footsteps fading into the distance. Ziora stood there for a moment, frozen, before her knees buckled and she collapsed into a nearby chair.

Her sobs were silent, the kind that wracked her body with a pain so deep it seemed to echo in her very soul.

No one should have to endure this kind of suffering, she thought bitterly. Diara had already lost so much, and now this? It was too much for anyone to bear.

Ziora wiped her tears, forcing herself to regain some semblance of composure. Diara needed her to be strong, especially now.

She took a deep breath and rose from the chair, her legs shaky but determined. The door to Diara's ward loomed before her, and with a trembling hand, she pushed it open.

The room was dimly lit, a single lamp casting a soft glow over Diara's pale face. She lay in the bed, her chest rising and falling steadily, but even in sleep, her brow was furrowed, a deep frown marrying her delicate features.

Ziora's heart ached at the sight. Diara, sedated and exhausted, still couldn't find peace even in her sleep.

A lone tear slipped from Ziora's eye, but she quickly brushed it away, refusing to let her emotions overwhelm her.

Diara needed her. She gently pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat down, her hand reaching out to tenderly smooth the lines of worry from Diara's forehead.

The touch was light, almost hesitant, as if she feared causing her friend any more pain.

"I'll take you away from all this," Ziora whispered, her voice barely audible. "All the pain, all the sorrow… I promise, I'll protect you."

For a moment, the room was silent, the only sound was the soft hum of the machines monitoring Diara's vitals. Ziora sat there, her hand still resting on Diara's forehead, as if her presence alone could ward off the darkness that had taken root in her friend's life.

But deep down, she knew that no promise could erase the trauma Diara had endured. No words could heal the wounds that ran so deep.

All she could do was be there, to offer whatever comfort she could, and hope that it would be enough.

The morning sunlight streamed through the hospital room's curtains, casting a warm golden glow over everything it touched.

Diara had been awake for a while, her eyes fixated on the ceiling as she tried to process the events that had led her here.

She could feel the steady rhythm of Ziora's breathing beside her, the comforting warmth of her friend's hand wrapped tightly around her own.

She didn't want to disturb her, but the need to move was overwhelming.

Diara tried to gently pull her hand free, but the slight movement was enough to startle Ziora awake.

Ziora blinked groggily, her eyes widening when she saw that Diara was already awake. Relief washed over her, but it was short-lived.

The first thing Diara did was instinctively touch her stomach, her eyes clouded with confusion and hope.

"How is my baby?" Diara's voice was barely more than a whisper, hoarse and raw with fear.

Ziora's breath hitched in her throat. She had known this moment would come, had dreaded it with every fiber of her being.

The words she needed to say lodged themselves in her throat, too painful to speak. She looked at Diara, her heart breaking all over again, and said nothing.

Diara was smart, too smart. The silence was enough of an answer.

Diara's eyes widened in disbelief, and then her expression crumpled, the realization crashing over her like a tidal wave.

Without another word, she pushed herself up from the bed, her movements jerky and frantic. The IV line tugged at her skin, but she ripped it out without hesitation, the pain nothing compared to the hollow ache that had settled in her chest.

The sterile hospital gown felt suffocating, and she tore it off, her breathing coming in shallow gasps.

"Where is my phone?" Her voice was low, laced with a cold determination that made Ziora's heart sink even further.

Ziora stood there, helpless, her mind racing for something—anything—to say that might soothe the storm raging inside her friend. But what could she say? Nothing would ever make this right.

"I'm so sorry," Ziora finally managed, her voice breaking as she fought to suppress the tears threatening to spill over.

She took a hesitant step toward Diara, reaching out as if to comfort her, but Diara recoiled, her expression distant, her mind somewhere else entirely.

Diara ignored Ziora's words, her focus solely on the black leather jeans and T-shirt that had been folded neatly at the foot of the bed.

She dressed quickly, her hands shaking slightly as she slipped on the familiar clothing, a protective armor against the world she now found herself in.

Ziora watched, her heart aching, as Diara picked up her phone, her movements mechanical, devoid of any of the warmth and vitality that had once defined her. She was about to leave when Ziora's voice cut through the silence, tinged with desperation.

"Where are you going, Diara?" Ziora asked, her voice trembling with the fear of what might come next.

Diara paused, her hand on the door, her back to her friend. For a moment, Ziora thought she might not answer, that she would walk out of the room and out of her life, carrying her pain with her in silence.

But then Diara spoke, her voice icy and distant, each word a dagger to Ziora's heart.

"To get a divorce."

The words hung in the air, cold and final. Diara didn't look back, didn't offer any explanation. She simply walked out of the ward, leaving Ziora standing in the middle of the room, her heart heavy with grief and guilt.

Ziora didn't try to stop her. How could she? Diara had suffered more than anyone should ever have to, and her husband… He was an ungrateful, uncaring scumbag who had never deserved her in the first place.

This should have happened a long time ago, Ziora realized bitterly. She should have left him before he had the chance to break her heart again and again.