Insight of a Kenyan Girl

I was pregnant. And I hadn’t told him.

Callum had always spoken about kids—always in that distant, hazy way, as if it was something for another time. “Not now,” he’d say, even though there was always the hope in his eyes when he talked about a family. He’d been clear, though, about not being ready. I had been too scared to face the truth. But still, when my period didn’t come for two months, I tried. I wanted to tell him. I needed to. But when I looked into his eyes, I couldn’t. The weight of it all crushed me before I even spoke a word.

Then came the pain. It hit me like a storm, violent and unrelenting. My body was screaming, and I was too afraid to listen. I found myself in the hospital, a stranger’s hands prodding me, a cold metal table beneath me. The doctor’s voice, calm and clinical, cut through the panic and made everything freeze.

“An ectopic pregnancy.”

Not viable.

A danger to your life.

My heart shattered. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. I hadn’t even known how deeply I had wanted it—the tiny life I had dreamed about, the baby I had already started to love. Zoya. Zahid. The names felt real in my heart, even though they were just dreams. Now those dreams were gone. Stolen in the blink of an eye.

Callum had stopped talking to me weeks ago. I didn’t understand it. But I stopped fighting for answers. I thought I could handle it. I could do it alone, I told myself. But in that sterile, cold hospital room, with nothing but pain filling every inch of my body, I realized how wrong I was. I was alone.

I had spent every last cent of my savings to be here, and now I had nothing. I was broke, emotionally drained, physically spent. The emptiness inside me was suffocating. How was I supposed to get through this? How was I supposed to face a life where everything I had hoped for was gone?

Would anyone remember my name?

Would Callum remember me, or would I just fade into the background of a life that moved on without me?

Anureet, the nurse, checked on me, her voice gentle and kind. But it felt hollow. She didn’t know me, didn’t understand the ache that lived in every inch of me. She didn’t know the baby I had carried for a brief moment, or the future that had crumbled before my eyes.

Zoya or Zahid. Gone. Never to take their first breath. And Callum? He was gone too. The silence between us had stretched for too long, and now it felt permanent.

How was I supposed to move forward from this? How was I supposed to survive a world that kept spinning when mine had stopped?

I didn’t have the answers. I didn’t know how to pick up the pieces of myself that felt like they had shattered. I wanted to scream, to tell someone—anyone—how broken I felt. But there was no one to hear me.

For now, all I could do was breathe.

Just breathe.

One breath at a time. And maybe that would be enough. Maybe.