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Two Months later
Mirana sits on the couch in the silence of her home. Tim had taken Isaac to greet Angela and her newborn son Jackson Evers but Mirana couldn't bring herself to go. To see Angela's newborn when her own had died long before they could even take their first breath.
She takes a large mouthful from her glass of wine as she stares at the small plaque on the mantlepiece that Tamara had given to them.
Baby Bradford Carried for every second of their life but loved forever
Mirana closes her eyes as she remembers the pain that had torn through her stomach while on the plane and then the pain that had torn through her heart when La Fiera had confirmed her worst fears.
No tears fall from Mirana's eyes as she drinks from her glass again. She had cried all of her tears for the first three weeks after her return from Guatemala.
She had mourned her baby, mourned the woman she once was, mourned Jackson and mourned how her and Tim's relationship had been before the loss of their second child.
Mirana glances at her phone to see that Angela has sent her a picture of Isaac cuddling with baby Jack. She knew Angela meant no harm by the picture but anger floods Mirana's body.
With an angered shout, she hurls her phone at the wall, watching as the device falls to the ground in pieces.
As the anger, pain and grief flood Mirana's body, the woman grabs her wine glass before hurling that at the wall and throwing the bottle as angered cries fall from her lips.
In the aftermath of her outburst, Mirana stands amidst the shattered remnants of her phone and the broken glass, her chest heaving with pent-up emotions. The room echoes with the sound of her tearless cries, a cacophony of anguish and frustration that reverberates off the walls.
With trembling hands, Mirana begins to pick up the shattered pieces of her phone and the broken glass, ignoring the glass slicing into her hands as she clears the glass up before dropping it into the bin.
Turning on the faucet, Mirana lets the cool water flow over her hands, washing away the blood and debris. Despite the discomfort, she continues to scrub until her hands are clean, the water turning pink with each passing moment.
Once her hands are free of blood, Mirana reaches for the first aid kit, her fingers deftly opening it to reveal its contents. With practised precision, she picks out the smaller shards of glass embedded in her skin, wincing at the sharp pain with each removal.
