The Biggest Regret Is that You don't Love Me Anymore

In the eighth year of Gerry Hudson was entrusted to taking care of me, after a night of drunken passion, we conceived a child. I thought it was a gift from the heavens.

But he rushed into the obstetrics and gynecology department, holding a woman with signs of miscarriage, pleading with me to save their child. I hid my ultrasound results and did everything I could to save the baby he called his first. But in the end, we couldn’t save it.

Larissa Jones sobbed in Gerry’s arms, delicate like a rain-drenched flower, "Gerry, that medicine felt wrong.