About

Every morning when I wake up, I place my hand on my stomach first. I'm terrified that, just like a year ago, there might be no movement. Fortunately, as if you enjoy the warmth of my hand, you wiggle energetically, and that feeling allows me to breathe a sigh of relief for another day. I hid the pregnancy from you. I was too afraid of giving you hope only to lose the baby again and see you drowning in sorrow. That's why I always wear loose t-shirts at home. To keep you from finding out, I had to suppress the nausea even when my stomach churned while eating with you, and I forced myself to endure it even when my stomach felt tight and cramped. When you asked if I was sick, I lied and said I was fine. When I couldn't hold back the vomiting, I made excuses, saying it was just indigestion. Despite my constant lies and being nothing but a burden, you loved me without a single complaint.