My tongue almost feels like sandpaper stuck to the roof of my dry mouth. I glance at the digital clock beside me and frown. It's only the afternoon.

A stray tear trickles down my cheek so I brush it away with the back of my warm finger. As I look at my hand, I remember how it felt to hold little Ivan's hand in mine. The silk like touch of his perfect smooth skin. The little nose wriggle and the sound that would escape his parted lips.

I envied time. There was never enough. I wanted more time with Ivan, no, I needed it. My heart burned at the thought of lost time, the time we'd never get back. It feels like a lifetime has flashed before me, yet it has only been a day or two.

Pulling the blanket over my head, I hide under it. Somehow, hiding under the warm blanket felt better than sitting downstairs. I felt safe under here. Silent tears trickle down my cheek. I don't bother brushing them away, it's no use.

I roll onto my stomach a heave with frustration. I hate that I can lay on my stomach, I hate how empty I feel, and I hate that Ivan isn't here. This feels like a terrible nightmare I don't know how to wake up from.

The blankets stay wrapped around me until I can't breathe. I kick them away and climb out of bed. Slowly, I shuffle towards the bathroom to shower. At least if I cried here, the tears would be carried away as if they were never there.

Once I get into the bathroom, I strip out of my clothing and throw it into the hamper. I step inside the shower and turn the water on. A gush of cold water hits me in the face. It's a wake-up call that sends me jerking backward. I turn on the hot water and wait for it to filter through the faucet.

My eyes catch a plain spot on the way - nothing special but tiles. Once again, my mind wanders to the painful memories. Being dragged from the room, the hallway incident, and then having to watch the sullen looks and pats of condolence. That killed me. I've never liked people saying sorry for my loss. They were never sorry. It's just a generic thing we say because it's expected.

The shower door is suddenly ripped open and I'm pulled out. I lose my balance and fall into a pair of muscular arms. Blake helps me to my feet as he wraps a towel around my shoulders.

I catch a view of my pinkish body in the mirror. It's only then that I notice the heat radiating from my skin.

Blake takes my arm and leads me to the bedroom. I take a seat on the bed while Blake searches through my draws for a pair of normal clothes to wear. Nothing about this is normal. I see the maternity clothing shoved into drawers, then I look over my shoulder and see the cot set up for Ivan. These are just reminders that I'm not a mother.

"Ava, tell me what to do. How can I help?" asks Blake, distress laced in his voice.

"We need to get rid of the cot and the clothing. I don't need them anymore," I say.

"Okay." He nods.

Blake scrambles through the draws and collects the maternity clothes in his arms. He walks to the other side of the room and throws it in the cot. He grabs either side of it and begins walking towards the stairs.

"Wait," I call out.

Blake stops and turns towards me. With the towel tightly wrapped around my body, I dig through the clothing and retrieve the stuffed frog. With a slight nod, Blake descends the stairs and I dress in a pair of soft cotton shorts and a matching red top.

I take a seat at the end of the bed and wait for Blake to return. He takes a seat beside me and wraps his arms around my body. I fall against his chest and cuddle the frog in my arms.

"We need to plan the funeral, Ava," he nervously whispers.

"Do what you want. I can't do it," I reply.

The silence is thick and suffocating. I'm almost glad when Blake stands up and steps away from the bed. I miss his body being close to mine, but I don't say anything about it. Instead, I silently watch as he paces up and down the room.

His fists clench and unclench. I see the strain on his face and the discomfort in his awkward walk. Except, I didn't know how to fix it. What am I supposed to say to him? It's all my fault that Ivan isn't here. If I just did things differently, maybe he'd still be with us. He wouldn't have been born early and he wouldn't have problems with his lungs.

"I don't know how to plan a funeral," explains Blake.

'What? You think that because my brother died, I know how to?" I snap.

"No, Ava, I just want help," he says. Blake runs his hands through his hair before continuing to pace. Watching him whiz around the room is making me feel dizzy.

"I can't." I shake my head. "I'm not ready."

"When are you going to be ready?"

"I don't know." I shrug my shoulders.

The idea of standing in front of our family and friends isn't thrilling. I can't go through another round of tears and apologies from people.

"That's not good enough, Ava."

"I just lost my son, Blake. What do you expect me to do?" I whimper.

"I lost him too. I lost my little boy," he shouts. "I can't do this alone, Ava. I don't know how. It hurts just as much." Blake's raised voice makes me squirm back. The hairs on my arms stand on ends as I watch Blake.

When I don't say anything, Blake storms down the stairs. I hear him yell out in frustration. Somehow, I can't get off this bed and go after him. I stay seated, bound with chains and metal weights. Like a broken ship, I sink further into oblivion.

I throw the stuffed toy on the ground and look away. My body hits the bed as I curl into a ball.

Shortly later, someone sits on the bed beside me. I look up to see the soft features of my mother's face. She opens her arms and I instantly crawl into them. Mum kisses the top of my forehead as she holds onto me.

"What are you doing here?" I mumble.

"You need me, even if you think you don't."

"No, I need you," I say.

"I won't say the things I never wanted to hear, but I will add, it gets easier. Not today, not tomorrow, or even next week, But gradually, it does." Spoken like an unofficial expect, I understood. Things got easier with Logan, but Ivan? He's my little bub. I'll never know so much, yet I love so deep.

"What if it doesn't?" I ask.

She squeezes her arms around me, and I feel safe inside them.

"We love, we lose, and we love once more. Little Ivan will always be in our hearts, just as Logan is. Those two will always be watching over us, smiles on their faces. It's painful to lose a child no matter the age. Just don't close yourself up forever. Take each moment as it comes because life is so fickle."

"What if I can't move on from this?" What if I used up all my chances with Logan?

"Nobody is expecting you to be fine, Ava. Grieve, process, and then when you're ready, move forwards. Move on as a whole person, and never alone. Ivan will always be in your heart and never your past."

"Okay, thank you, Mum."

"Now, I hear you haven't made any arrangements for the funeral," she says. "I'll admit I heard you two yelling from Angela's house." The fight comes to mind and I cringe at the thought. I needed to work things out with him.

"Blake wants me to help, but I have no idea," I confess.

"Only if you want, I'll help. You must check with Blake first. I don't want to step on toes."

"Thank you for your offer. I'll ask Blake. I know I'd really love your help."

"No worries," she says. "I'll leave you to talk with Blake. Then come next door if you need me? I'm going to have a coffee with Angela."

"Okay, thank you." I give Mum one last tight hug before she gets up. I watch as she travels down the stairs. There's some shuffling, then I hear the sound of their goodbyes before the front door opens and closes.

Before I go downstairs, I take a moment to compose myself. Taking a deep breath, I brush away the tears and then get up. I slowly descend the stairs and find Blake sitting on the couch with his head in his hands.

"I'm sorry," I mumble apologetic.

"I'm sorry for yelling." I plop beside Blake and wrap my arm around his shoulder to comfort him.

"I know we both lost Ivan, and I know I haven't been there for you. I'm sorry. I don't know what to do. What can I do to help you?" I ask.

"I want to plan the funeral and get it over with," he admits.

"Okay, we'll plan the funeral." I nod in agreement. "Mum offered to help, and I'll only agree if that's something you want to. She understands it's a personal thing." I hope Blake's okay with it. Mum's got some experience under her belt.

"No, I think she'd be great help. I don't understand floral arrangements or anything else." Blake laughs uneasily.

"Mum had this beautiful arrangement for Logan. There was this spot at the park that had these beautiful purple and orange flowers. So, she got those flowers and made a thing with them. I think Logan would have loved it," I explain.

"What do we do for Ivan?" asks Blake.

"We'll figure it out." I tug on a hopeful smile. "I was kind of thinking about cremating him."

"Please tell me you don't want to stick his ashes on the fire places? My Aunty Brenda did that for her dog and it was weird." Blake shivers at the thought.

"No." I giggle at his face. "I was thinking we'd set them free. In a park, or open space of land. I think Ivan deserves to be free. What do you think?"

"I love that idea." He nods.

"Great." I half-smile.

"Should we both do speeches or just one of us? I'm not good at public speaking." The thought of standing in front of people speaking about Ivan felt weird. He was our baby. Nobody else had the chance to share his life with him.

"We could both speak. But if you don't want to, I'll do it."

"I can muster something up," says Blake.

"Okay, that's good."

I wasn't very good at speeches and I have no idea what to say. With Logan, there was an endless amount of memories, funny fights, and childish pranks to talk about. Ivan on the other hand, it was hard to know where to start. The moment I first laid eyes on such a perfect little one, or the moment my heart shattered for good.