On this particular evening, a young woman entered the room for the first time.
She looked terrified.
Her hands trembled as she took a seat.
When it was finally her turn to speak, tears immediately filled her eyes.
“I feel ridiculous,” she whispered.
The room remained silent.
“My baby never existed.”
Her voice cracked.
“The doctors say I should move on. My family says I should be grateful I’m alive.”
She lowered her head.
“But how do I grieve someone who was never real?”
The question hung heavily in the room.
Several women quietly wiped away tears.
Because they understood.
They all understood.
Eleanor looked at the young woman for a long moment before speaking.
“I used to ask that same question.”
The young woman raised her head.
Eleanor smiled softly.
“May I tell you something I learned?”
The woman nodded.
Eleanor folded her hands in her lap.
“The child wasn’t real.”
