I watched as the nurse adjusted the IV bag above the neo-natal bed. It hurt me to see my baby hooked up to so many wires. He wasn’t able to breathe on his own, and the respirator covered most of his angelic face. This was all my fault. If I hadn’t got involved….

I flinched at the feeling of a hand squeeze my shoulder and shrugged it off. Tears filled my eyes as I gave the signal to turn off the life-support machine.

“Y/N,” his voice was soft behind me, breaking with sadness. “I need you… please.”

I couldn’t pull my eyes away from my son; so small, eyes so bright.

“Please…” I felt a tear fall on my shoulder, and I finally turned around.

Looking into his face was like looking into my sons – eyes so bright. “I think I’d like to be alone with my son,” I spoke to the attending nurse. She had removed the respirator from his face, revealing his beautiful features.

Once everyone was outside the room, I picked my child up and held him close. His fair skin was already growing cold and pale. He looked just like his father: his eyes, cheeky dimples, and fair hair matched his father’s a child. Aric was the perfect name for him. He would forever be sacred to me.

I found myself wishing that I had never met Aric’s father. My mind wandered to three years ago when we had met while I was at university in Manchester. As a foreign exchange student, I had opted to spend Christmas with my friend and her family instead of booking a plane ticket home to the States. On Christmas Eve, we went to her uncle’s house in Holmes Chapel. She had neglected to tell me that the woman her uncle was engaged to had such a handsome son.

Throughout dinner, I had been the topic of conversation. How was English weather treating me? What was my favorite part about Christmas in America? Did I miss my family? The last question was asked by the handsome boy. His green eyes bore into my soul as he awaited an answer. I would never be able to forget those eyes.

I saw those same eyes looking down at Aric now. I knew Harry was hurting just as much as I was, but this was my baby that I had carried to term. My heart was broken, and I didn’t know if it could be pieced back together.

“Can I?” Harry’s voice was small beside me.

My watery gaze traveled over to his. I didn’t want to let Aric go, but Harry needed his time to heal and mourn, too. Reluctantly, I passed my son to his father who broke down in gross sobs as he embraced our child. I reached out and squeezed his knee.

A few minutes later, a nurse came back into the room and took Aric away from us. My body shook with sobs and I didn’t resist Harry’s touch when he wrapped his arms around me. If we were going to make it through this tragedy, we couldn’t do it alone. We needed each other.