Sienna

There she was, left all alone now, like a lighthouse at a deserted beach. She was left to defend herself from the harsh waves, as the cloudy skies muddied any signs of a soul willing to come near.

It was a miscarriage, six months in. She fell, they left, everyone did, but the empty feeling inside her stomach never did.

She could feel it, the baby’s heartbeat. She still has her phone's wallpaper set to the grey and black photo of the ultrasound. That same feeling serves as the background noise as the tears swell up in her eyes, and the same black and grey tires her eyes out during the dark of the night.

She’s caring, overly so, even if you aren’t someone significant to her. It’s not done out of wanting something in return, but instead an underlying maternal instinct that comes to the surface when she cares for someone. It is akin to the warm comfort and protection provided by a blanket on a cool autumn evening.

She masks the pain with a smile, one that is half forced and half born from her caring nature. She tries, but she isn’t very good at hiding the pain through her smile.

The way she silently makes things easier, like wiping your face before you even realize there is something on it, or the way she stares for a little too long. Doing so doesn’t seem to bother her because that is not what she is thinking about. When she is doing that, she doesn’t see the walls put up by you; she sees past them.

She never really moved on from her lover either. His warm voice, the subtle vibration of her child's heartbeat that served as the soft bass line to her life, and the photo of the ultrasound that her mind forces upon her in a cruel, twisted attempt to overwhelm her with grief and guilt. It eats her up mentally, like a termite to wood.

She doesn’t speak ill of the people who left her. She understands why it happened, and for her lover, she will defend him if insulted. She doesn’t hate him, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt when he left.