BIG trigger warnings for miscarriage and stillbirth scenes. pls read ahead at ur own cost 

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It was strange how everything could seem perfect, only to come crashing down in an instant. Cecily knew that all too well. She had lived it, time and time again. Just when life felt secure, when hope seemed within reach, it all unraveled—reminding her how fragile happiness could be.

Cecily stood by the window, gazing out at the world beyond. Her fingers instinctively reached for the ring hanging from the necklace around her neck, a habit she'd developed over the past few months. As she twirled it between her fingers, she couldn't help but notice the fresh blooms outside—the unmistakable sign that spring had returned once more.

The moment Cecily heard about the earthquake in Westchester, she didn't hesitate. She dropped everything and rushed back to the mansion, her mind racing with fear and desperation. As she arrived, the scene that greeted her was one of chaos—authorities and ambulances filled the grounds, flashing lights reflecting off the shattered remnants of what was once her home. Her breath quickened, panic setting in as she tried to push past the barricade.

"Please, you don't understand! I have to go in there!" she pleaded, her voice trembling with urgency.

A paramedic gently but firmly held her back. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but you'll have to wait. We need to account for all the losses first."

Cecily's heart sank as she looked past him, searching for any sign of the people she loved, the people she feared she might have lost forever.

Cecily stood frozen, her heart pounding in her chest as she watched the black body bags being carried out of the mansion's front door, one after another. First one, then two, then three. Her breath hitched as the numbers continued to climb—four, five, six, seven. Each one felt like a blow, each one carried away another piece of the world she once knew. She wanted to scream, to demand answers, but all she could do was stand there, helpless, as the weight of her worst fears pressed down on her.

When Cecily was finally allowed back inside, she stood near the stairwell, her body trembling as an officer tried to explain what they thought had happened. His words were just a distant murmur, drowned out by the overwhelming grief and panic that consumed her. Her entire world had shattered in an instant, and she couldn't focus on anything he was saying. Each breath was a struggle, her mind reeling with the enormity of the loss. She had no idea where Logan was, and that uncertainty gnawed at her, adding to the suffocating weight on her chest.

"Mrs. Hill?" The officer's voice broke through the fog, pulling her back to the present. Cecily looked up, her eyes red and distant, acknowledging him with a small nod. "Come down when you decide how you would like the bodies to be handled," he said, his tone gentle but firm.

Just then, a sharp pain shot through her stomach, causing her to whimper softly. She doubled over slightly, trying to regain her composure before straightening up. The officer noticed but said nothing, giving her a sympathetic nod before turning and walking out the door, leaving her alone with her grief and the unbearable silence that now filled the mansion.

Cecily went up the stairs with deliberate slowness, each step exacerbating the growing pain in her abdomen. She gripped the railing tightly, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. The weight of the grief and physical agony felt almost unbearable as she reached the professor's room.

With a trembling hand, she opened the door just a crack, peering inside. The professor lay there, sound asleep, blissfully unaware of the chaos and devastation that he had caused. The sight of him, so peaceful in contrast to her turmoil, only deepened her sorrow.

The pain in her stomach intensified as she turned and made her way to her own room. Each step was a struggle, her body wracked with painful contractions that caused her to cry out softly. The tears streamed down her face as she clutched her stomach, trying to steady herself as she moved through the darkened halls.

Cecily shut the door to her room with a heavy thud, the sound echoing in the emptiness around her. Her breaths were ragged and uneven as she stumbled toward the bed. She reached down, her hand trembling, and when she pulled it back up, it was smeared with blood. Panic surged through her as she realized what was happening. The babe was coming—three months too soon.

Desperation clawed at her as she tried to steady herself, her vision blurring with tears and pain. An hour had passed, and the contractions were relentless. She paced the room, each step a battle against the overwhelming agony.

The door creaked open, and through her haze of pain, she saw Logan standing in the doorway. He looked at her with a mix of confusion and concern, clearly unaware of the gravity of the situation.

Cecily's voice was strained, her anger barely masking her fear. "Where have you been?" she managed, her breath coming in sharp gasps. "Do you know what has happened?"

Her eyes searched his face for understanding, the intensity of her labor leaving her no room for patience. He stood there, frozen, his expression a mix of confusion and fear. She could see he didn't grasp the full weight of what had happened.

"The professor had a seizure," she said through gritted teeth, grabbing the bedpost for support. "They're dead. All of them." Her voice broke, and she cried out in pain as another contraction hit her.

Logan's eyes widened as the gravity of her words sank in. The room seemed to spin as he took in the horrifying reality. He moved closer, reaching out but unsure of what to do. "Cecily, I'm sorry," he stammered, his voice filled with anguish.

He took a hesitant step closer. "Where have you been?" she demanded, her breathing heavy and strained. "I went out for a bit," he replied, but she could smell the alcohol on him.

"Out to a bar," she said, her voice dripping with anger. "You knew how he was. You knew this could happen to him at any moment, but you still chose to go to a bar."

He tried to move closer, reaching out to grab her arm in a bid to support her. "Cecily—"

She shook his hand off violently. "No. Get off. Get off. Get off!" she shouted, her voice breaking with frustration and pain. She turned away from him, stumbling as she tried to move, her breaths coming in sharp, ragged gasps.

Cecily's labor continued to intensify, and her strength was waning. Logan, realizing the severity of the situation, took a deep breath and tried to compose himself. He knew he needed to help, despite the tension between them.

He moved closer again, this time with more determination. "Cecily, I'm sorry. I was wrong. Let me help you." He reached out cautiously.

"Get out," she demanded, gripping a chair so tightly her knuckles turned white. "I don't want your help. Just go—go check on the professor," she said, her voice breaking with anguish.

After a few excruciating minutes, Cecily slumped against the bed frame, clinging to it as she pushed through the relentless pain. Her cries of anguish filled the room. "Get out. Get out," she gasped, pushing with all her strength. The room was heavy with her labor, and she felt the final, heart-wrenching moment when her baby was born.

The silence that followed was deafening. There were no cries, no sound of life. Cecily's tears had long since run dry. With a heartbroken expression, she carefully wrapped her tiny, silent daughter in a nearby blanket. Rocking back and forth on the floor, she cradled her sweet girl with a sorrowful tenderness, her grief consuming every inch of her being.

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A few days later, Cecily and Logan stood outside at the back of the mansion. Eight graves lay before them, each one a solemn marker of the lives lost. Cecily stared at them blankly, the weight of her grief nearly paralyzing her.

Logan stood beside her, his own pain etched deeply into his features. He reached out, placing his hand gently on her arm. She didn't flinch or pull away, letting the touch provide a small measure of comfort amid the overwhelming sorrow.

For a moment, they stood together in silence, the enormity of their loss settling heavily around them.

Cecily walked through the forest, her steps growing more hesitant as she approached. A year had passed, but she had avoided coming here, hoping that if she stayed away, it would somehow make it less real—that he was truly gone.

As she entered the clearing, she saw the makeshift grave marked by the X of two sticks in the distance. The wind stirred slightly, sending her now-blonde hair cascading over her back. She walked slowly towards the grave, her heart heavy.

She made her way to the grave and stood there, her gaze fixed on the simple marker. For a long moment, she was at a loss for words, feeling the weight of her grief settle heavily upon her. Her fingers instinctively began to pick at the skin, an old habit she thought she'd outgrown.

Cecily sat on her knees before the grave, her voice trembling as she spoke. "I know I told you this would happen, but it still doesn't make it easier, you know," she whispered, her eyes welling up with tears. She paused, letting the silence stretch between them before continuing, "I met Laura earlier."

Her breath hitched as she tried to steady herself. "She's a good girl. A lot like you." Cecily exhaled deeply, reaching into her pocket to pull out the tags Logan used to carry. She stared at them, her thumb tracing the engraved letters. "Finally got the daughter you wanted," she murmured with a small, bittersweet smile, but it quickly faded into an expression of raw pain. Tears streamed down her face as she clutched the tags. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice breaking as she was overcome with grief.

Tears streamed down Cecily's face as the weight of reality settled in—he was truly gone. She wiped her eyes, trying to steady her breath, before rising to her feet. Standing over the grave, she gently placed her hand on the makeshift X, feeling the roughness of the sticks under her fingertips.

With a deep breath, she let her gaze drift out into the forest, the familiar landscape now tinged with a sense of finality. The wind rustled the leaves, carrying with it the echoes of memories that would forever linger.