It was supposed to be just that- an it, a thing.

It wasn't supposed to be a he; he wasn't supposed to have my boyfriend's dark hair or my crooked pinkies or my father's flat nose.

He was just supposed to be an it, a thing, a clump of cells....He wasn't supposed to look so much like a child- like my child would.

As I placed my hands over my newly flattened stomach, I felt emptier than I thought I would.

I looked towards the doctor, he smiled at me, warm and sympathetic.

"I'm sorry, I just couldn't..." The words spilled from my mouth without conscious thought despite the fact that I had nothing to apologize for.

The doctor shushed me gently and placed his hand on my shoulder. I found the gesture to be ironically fatherly.

"It's alright. You don't have to explain. I understand."

But the words didn't comfort me; after all, I hadn't been justifying myself to him, but rather trying to justify myself to an unborn boy with dark hair and a flat nose, with eyes that never opened and ears that never heard me apologize- a boy who only really existed inside of me.

A boy, who in leaving my body, stole some small piece of my heart and left regret to fill its place.