I would like to preface this by saying, my fiance was a horrible man whom I've since left, and had put in prison.

He told me he wanted to leave me, and that he wished our baby and I would die. I pleaded with him to stop, and walked towards our car as he was getting in. That's when he hit me. Not with his fists, but with our car.

I was stunned.

I remember the feeling of the the hood, cold and pressed to my face. I remember the feeling of numbness that settled over me. I remember falling to the loose gravel of our driveway.

I was 16 weeks.

He got out of the car and apologised, crying, begging me to forgive him, saying it was an accident, that he didn't mean to do it. Somewhere inside, I knew it was a lie.

He carried me inside to our bed, and checked me for broken bones. Nothing was broken. Nothing but me.

I woke up the next morning and walked to the bathroom. My mind still in a daze from the previous days events. I felt like I was floating, like I was still in a dream. I sat on the toilet and went pee, and then wiped. That's when I saw the blood. bright red drops, staining the white toilet paper.

I called my brother and told him I was bleeding, and I was scared. He was in his way into town for work, nearly an hour from where I lived. He was at my door in less than twenty minutes.

I don't remember much of the drive. I just remember my brother handing me a pouch containing several different crystals. Not thinking about it, I grabbed a sphere of Crystal quartz, rolling it around in my palm.

We got to the hospital, and they immediately put me in a room. That's when the pain started. Horrible gut wrenching pain. I sat for what felt like an hour, but really could have been minutes. The pain getting worse and more regular.

Finally I walked to the nurses station, and demanded to see the doctor immediately. The nurse didn't even bother to look at me. She just kept typing away on her keyboard, staring at the computer screen in front of her face. The screen giving her a strange sort of glow. "The doctor will be there as soon as he has time", she said without feeling, or even a glance in my direction.

That's when I felt it. A painful pop, like a balloon bursting inside of me, followed by a rush of warm fluid. I looked down and saw the rapidly growing meter wide pool of blood that I was now standing in. I must have made some sort of noise, because the nurse finally looked up at me.

She took one look at my face, and immediately stood, looking over the counter of her station to see what it was that had drawn my gaze. I watched as all the color drained from her face, and she pushed the emergency page to call for a doctor.

She then slowly ushered me back into my room and onto my bed. I could feel my uterus contracting painfully every few seconds. Each contraction bringing another huge gush of blood.

I remember realising I was crying. I remember hearing the splattering noise, as my blood poured off the edge of the bed onto the tiled marble floor. I remember the very young frightened looking doctor, rushing into the room and spreading my legs apart. I remember someone asking how far along I was, and that I responded dispassionately, that my fundus measured sixteen weeks. I remember feeling like the tears and the blood would never stop, and that my fiance was about to get his wish. I remember the doctor saying he couldn't stop the bleeding, with panic in his voice. I remember the small forceps that he put inside of me, to pull my tiny baby from my body.

I remember seeing the big yellow biohazard bin, and being terrified that they would put my baby in there. That they would just throw him away like a piece of discarded trash. That's when they drugged me.

When I woke up, a kind faced middle aged woman, was standing at the foot of my bed. I was in a different room. A nice room, with bright colors and big sun filled windows. A lily plant sat on my bedside table. I remember thinking it must have come from my fiance, as he knew my distaste for cut flowers. An attempt at an apology perhaps?

I pondered this as I listened half heartedly to the words of the kind doctor. She was telling me what I already knew. My baby was dead, and I had nearly bled to death myself, before they got me into emergency surgery. I'd had a transfusion to keep me alive while they performed my emergency D&C;, and they were going to let me go home.

All I could think of, was my tiny little baby, in a biohazard bin.

A day later, I came back to the hospital for a check up, and they finally let me hold him. They had placed him in a tiny wooden coffin, with a little baby blanket. Some kind person had knitted him a teeny little hat, which sat upon his little head. An impossibly small teddy bear, had been tucked inside the box along side him. He was so tiny. He looked like a sleeping doll. A tiny little version of a newborn.

I held him, and I cried. I kissed his beautiful little face, and told him how much I loved him. I named him Ashleigh David, and silently told him about all the things I'd hoped and dreamed for him. Then I gently wrapped him in his little blanket, and tucked him back into his little box with his small teddy. So he wouldn't be alone.

I kissed him goodbye one last time, put the lid on his tiny coffin, and I left.

I had him cremated, and I keep his ashes close. The wound is old, but still fresh. I just needed to tell someone.