There's something so horrible about the death of a child that it causes your internal organs to split in two. Maybe you can picture the child laying between your severed organs as acid whisks their body away to what some like to call a better place.
All we hear are a mother's anguished screams and a thud as her knees collide with the wooden floor.
Tears seep into her skull as the child's father softly sobs, his body encircling hers.
That's how it's supposed to be, isn't it?
But no.
Crimson ribbons line the floor, cluttered in indescribable balls of what was once the body of someone who was so dearly loved.
Streaks of red are scattered across rough off white carpet as a woman with glossy brown curls cries.
She wishes for a glass of wine but the house has been devoid of it ever since her husband and she found out she was pregnant three months ago.
Shakes move her body rigidly but the only thing she can think about is her unborn child.
"Alexandra," the woman whispered.
She couldn't bring herself to say goodbye.