I never asked to, because I was twenty-nine years old and had lost my mother, my uterus, and my daughters in the space of one year, and I did not have a single question left in me.
After that, my husband left me.
Four months.
He said the marriage had « become a hospital room » and he needed air.
I was left completely alone.
Every night, I dreamed my twins were ALIVE — crying and begging me to take them home.
Not dreams of babies.
Dreams of little girls, growing, calling from a room I couldn’t find.
But psychologists told me it wasn’t real, just grief.
Two of them.
Continue on the next page:
