AUTHOR'S NOTES: I'm going to keep the author's notes for this story nice and simple by saying these four words: PLEASE DON'T HURT ME.

Enjoy! :P

Silence

The sheets are horrifically claustrophobic and it's all Mary could do to keep breathing. Her skin begins to dot with sweat and her expression twisting into a tight grimace, she can't do it, not anymore, she just needs to get out. She sits up desperately and throws the sheets off her still tender frame and practically gasps for air – as if she really had been drowning in something. Well, Mary knows what she's been drowning in…hurt and heartbreak and grief. She isn't sure how long it's been; at times it feels like it had been a life time ago, and others it feels so close that she would practically become winded by the pain it caused. But regardless of when it occurred, it had been the most destructive day of her life and she wasn't sure if she'd ever truly recover.

She and Bert had been expecting their first child. They were ecstatic – completely overjoyed by the prospect of starting a family together. Mary had never seen Bert happier than the day she told him that he was going to be a father, his smile put the sun to shame that day and he embraced her with such love that she almost couldn't handle it. Every night he would run a hand over her stomach – noticing each time it grew in size – and he would lean down to feather that area with kisses before talking gently to the child that they were so excited to meet. The child that they were already so in love with. He would offer words of love and fidelity to his offspring before smiling up at the beautiful woman that was giving him such a wonderful gift. And, of course, Mary had her fair share of kisses too. Her pregnancy made them so close, physically, emotionally – in every way possible. It was like a dream. But as with all dreams, one day they had to wake up.

They had been well prepared for the birth of their child, and when the big day finally arrived, Bert was the perfect companion. He never left her side whilst she struggled through the agony of bringing their child into the world. As each wave of torturous pain shot through her, Bert would hold her hand, rub her back and would whisper every word of encouragement that he could think of. Mary knew that she never would've made it through without him. And finally, when the pain was all over, she fell back against their bed and wept with relief; and all she'd wanted was to hold what they learned was their son. But no crying filled the room.

After only a few moments, the new parents began to panic – frantically asking the midwife if their baby was okay. She hadn't answered them straight away and had rushed to the other side of the room with their silent son in her arms. They asked again – desperation rising in their voices and tears welling in their eyes. Seconds felt like agonising hours and still the room remained silent. They begged and begged for an answer and Mary clutched onto Bert with her final ounces of strength, asking him if their son was alright. Eventually, the midwife turned to them – tears in her own eyes – and shook her head solemnly. There were no words to describe how they felt in that moment, how the sharp chills of disbelief and despair pelted through their limbs like a ravenous wave. How their hearts ached until they could no longer breathe. They had lost their son. They clung to each other with desperation – that scary sort of desperation that you only see when all is lost – and as they held each other they wept. Wept until they ran dry. The child that they had loved unconditionally for nine months, the child that they had never truly met, the child that they never got to hold in their arms was gone.

Even in their most evil of nightmares did they ever think that they would have to bury their new born son. They barely made it through the day – plagued by the numbness of the grief that refused to let up for even a second. Now all they had as a reminder of their family was a headstone and the memories that were still too painful to recall. It was sunny the day they buried him and deep down, hidden within all that grief, was a new kind of heartbreak as Mary couldn't stop herself from imagining what it would've been like to take her son to the park on lazy summer afternoons and hold him beneath the warmth of the season before letting him play. In her torturous reverie she could hear his laugh – the laugh that she would never know.

It's too painful to recall, yet Mary seems unable to feel anything else. The entire ordeal plagues her – causing her hope for the future to slowly seep away. She looks down at Bert and for the first time feels something other than the pain, for a brief second, she is reminded of the love she has for him. The loss of their son had taken away a lot of their closeness, they needed each other, yet the pain made it all but impossible to reach out; and whilst they don't hold each other in bed anymore, Mary can't deny that she still loves him more than anyone or anything else in the world. After all, he's her husband and she had promised to stand by him and love him until her last breath…she would never give up on him. Whilst he sleeps, she can't help but notice the softness of his features, how it's the first time in what seemed like forever that she can see him without heartbreak written all over him. He seems so at peace.

He had done his best to stay strong for her sake, but he was devastated. Through her own tears she had seen the look of distraught that he wore when they realised that they had lost their child, and it hurt her more than words could ever say. Like a blade straight to the heart. The memory sends everything rushing back to her and she begins to look back around the room…the room where it had all happened. A lump rises in her throat and she can feel her lungs closing up – refusing entrance to the oxygen that she now seems to need more than ever. She's haunted by the imaginary sounds of a baby's cries. The sounds that every parent eventually dreaded are the sounds she so desperately wants to hear, for now, she dreads the silence. Her chest begins to heave as the grief begins to pulse through her like shards and before long the room feels like a cage. She can't take it anymore, she can't stay in there.

She stumbles out of the bedroom and makes her way into the drawing room – allowing herself to take a ragged breath once she takes in the different surroundings. She can't carry on like this, it hurts so much that she can barely breath…as if her hand is a constant hand around her throat. It's an endless sense of anguish that she suspects will never truly leave her. There are times when she wishes that the whole thing would just disappear. She pulls a blanket from the nearest cupboard and attempts to chase her slumber on the sofa – hoping that being away from the scene of the terrible incident will provide her with some solace.

She lies there for some time, her eyes squeezed shut as she tries desperately to think of something, anything but her pain, but she simply can't – it was all she had left. She feels the painfully familiar sensation of tears stinging her eyes and cheeks and she practically begs herself for sleep – for any kind of release. She wishes that she could sleep without dreams – for they only reminded her of what she wanted to forget. Then she hears footsteps. She can't talk to him, not in this moment, not when all her energy is focused on making sure she doesn't stop breathing. She lies as still as possible and pleads with the universe to let him think she's asleep. She senses his closeness and knows that he's kneeling right in front of her face, but still she doesn't move a muscle. She knows that if she sees his face, it would release a whole new wave of mourning.

"Mary, what's wrong?" he whispers…she doesn't reply, "…Mary, I know you're not asleep, please…talk to me" she hears his voice break on the last few words.

Slowly, she lets her eyes flutter open before sitting up. She doesn't meet his gaze, she can't meet it.

"I can't do it, Bert…" she whimpers before turning her head upwards to hide her tears.

"Sweet'eart, you can't keep blaming yourself –"

" – I can't be up there!" she suddenly yells, "I can't be in that room! That room where –" her voice fades out into a choke as her cheeks suddenly become drenched.

"I know this is 'ard for you, Mary…"

"Do you really understand though?" she snaps.

"I lost our son too" he pleads – his own tears now falling.

"But I carried him, Bert! I was his only source of protection and it was my job to look after him! I spent hours and hours in sheer agony, doing all that I could to bring him into this world, and when it was all over I was so relieved, and I wanted nothing more than to hold him in my arms and love him…but I never got that chance…I – I failed him…"

"You didn't fail anybody –"

"Really? Then why are my arms so agonisingly empty? Huh?! –" she shoots to her feet and begins to pace around the drawing room – Bert's concerned gaze never leaving her, "—why am I stood here feeling like a failure instead of lying upstairs, in your arms, knowing that I'm a mother!" she chokes.

Her tears are what give her away. Whilst her tone is sharp and venomous, her eyes convey her agony, agony that's punctuated by those very tears. Bert notices that her hands are trembling and her breathes are shaky, he's never seen her this bad, not since the day this all began. Slowly he rises to his feet and takes a few tentative steps towards her.

"Mary…" he breathes – fighting to keep his voice intact, "…I never ever want you t' blame yerself for what 'appened…I know that it was…tragic, but it isn't anyone's fault – especially not yours…it was just what 'appened…"

"I loved him, Bert…I never knew him, but I loved him" she sobs.

"Me too…"

"Sometimes I know exactly what he would've felt like in my arms, what his laugh would've sounded like or…or what he would've looked like…oh, Bert, it would've been perfect…"

But it isn't perfect, the crib that lies in the now dusty nursery is harrowingly empty. He can't bear to see her like this, so in pain and simply broken, he would die be he'd ever see her suffer. But he can't do anything about it and the worst part is that he knows exactly how she feels…maybe she even feels worse than he does? He just knows, that he has to everything in his power to help her and help them through this. She's all he has left.

Finally, their eyes meet, and Bert feels his heart break at the very sight of her. Within seconds she's in his arms and clinging to him desperately – as if he's her only remaining life source. In a way, he is.

"I so sorry…" she cries into his shoulder.

"Shhh, you've got nothin' to apologise for…"

"I want it all to be different"

"Me too, Mary…me too"

He holds her close whilst they cry.

"We'll get through this, love, I know we will…it'll take some time, but one day it'll all seem like a bad dream…" he soothes.

And for the first time in too long, she manages to choke out…

"I love you"

"I love you too, Mary…don't ever doubt it"

For the first time since silence became their greatest torment, it feels as if there may be hope.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Yeah, like I said at the beginning, please don't hurt me! Haha!

If that was painful to read, don't worry, because I assure you it was painful to write, and as much as I hate hurting these two beautiful characters, there is a part of me that enjoys writing sadder stories...mostly because as much as I adore straight romance, as a writer, I do sometimes feel like I'm repeating myself...hence why a sad story comes along every now an then. It basically just allows me to do something different and write about these characters from an entirely new angle...it's a challenge, if you will.

Anyway, I do hope you got some enjoyment out of that and I'd really love to hear your thoughts!

See you soon! xx