Our child is dead and no one cares. No one knows how much I miss being pregnant and falling asleep with my hand protectively placed on my tummy. No one knows how I already planned out a nursery, or that I still think about how big I’d be right now. No one knows that every time I see a child, I think of how my baby will never be that size. My baby was barely the size of a seed, if even that. No one knows how excited I was to one day have an ultrasound to see my baby, or give birth. No one knows how much I wanted to have a baby shower, to celebrate my baby. I was terrified that I wasn’t going to be good enough, that life was going to be too hard with a baby. It turns out it’s harder knowing that there’s a part of my heart that is forever gone. My baby is never coming back.