His Regret, My Forgotten Ten Years

Casey POV

"But... but what about our children?" Young Casey's voice was softer now, filled with a fragile hope. "We always talked about having two kids, a boy and a girl. Did we have them? Are they healthy?"

My hand instinctively went to my abdomen, a place that felt hollow now. A phantom ache radiated through me, a memory of a pain too deep for tears. My gaze turned distant, fixed on the empty space ahead.

"We had one," I said, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. I heard young Casey gasp, a sound of pure joy. I quickly cut her off. "It's gone. We lost it."

The silence returned, heavier this time.

"When?" she finally asked, her voice trembling. "How?"

"Four months ago," I replied. The memory unspooled, cold and clear. "Jordan, his young associate, Bristol Sims, and I were coming back from a business trip. We were on the highway. A truck veered into our lane."

I remembered the screech of tires, the sudden lurch. My hands flew to my stomach, a primal instinct to protect the life growing inside me. In the chaos, I saw Jordan. My husband. His arm shot out, not towards me, not towards his pregnant wife, but towards Bristol. He shielded her. His body instinctively moved to protect her.

The impact was brutal. A searing pain ripped through my lower body. A wave of nausea, then a dizzying, sickening twist. I knew then. I just knew.

"I lost the baby," I said, the words coming out without a tremor. My voice was calm, almost detached. There was no fresh pain, only the dull ache of a wound that had festered for too long. My emotions had run dry months ago. I had cried so many times over the years, for so many betrayals, that there were simply no tears left. Each heartbreak was a slow, agonizing death of a thousand cuts, until I was just numb. I was too tired to feel it anymore.

On the other end, young Casey broke down, a raw, guttural cry tearing through the phone. Her sobs were loud, unrestrained, full of the grief I no longer had the strength to feel. I envied her. She could still cry. She could still feel that sharp, acute pain. For me, it was just an empty space where my heart used to be.

"Our baby," she wailed, "our little boy... we picked out names! He was going to be so loved!"

I stared at the ground, my eyes unfocused. "He chose her," I finally said, my voice barely above a whisper. "In that moment, he chose Bristol. He shielded her body. He protected her." I finally looked up, my eyes fixed on the distant horizon. "He loved her."

The phone went silent again, but this time, it was different. It was the silence of disbelief, of a world shattering.

"That was the day I stopped loving him," I said quietly. "And the day I realized I had been dead inside for years. I just hadn't noticed the funeral."