Disclaimer: I don't own Danny Phantom. Enjoy the story!
Do you remember me?
That's what the note read. I stood there motionless for a moment, a light breeze ruffling my hair in the crisp autumn air. I shut my eyes. I didn't want to remember him. I didn't want to remember why he left me, why his baby blue eyes turned numb and cold, why his smile vanished along with himself for so many years. My fingers crease the note slightly. I needed to take control of these emotions. These thoughts I had shoved away into the back crevices of my mind trying to forget him. They were left there for a reason.
I feel his hand being placed gently on mine. He gently rubs it with his thumb like he used to do so long ago. I bit my lip in hopes of not breaking down at the gesture I used to love. I hear his sneakers step an inch closer, and then another inch. His breathing grows a bit heavier, and I can hear him swallow. What happened to the numb boy that left me and now has returned as a young man?
"Sammy..."
His voice is cracking. It's deeper now, much deeper. His voice is soft, pleading, almost desperate. My eyebrows cringe at the memory of his voice becoming loud and boisterous, declaring his departure because of our mistake. I feel something liquid emerging from my right eye, and then my left. My cheeks tint a blossom red. I don't want him to see me cry, out of all people.
"Sammy... I-I'm sorry. I don't know how else to say this, but I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have left- I should've have stayed- I should've cared for you. I should've cared for our child-"
The tears are flowing down my face now. The dam of emotions had broke. My hand is trembling.
"...miscarriage..." is the only word I can utter. I'm suddenly enveloped in a pair of strong arms. His hand rubs up and down my back, and I hide my face into his chest.
"I'm sorry," he chokes out, and the only response I can give is sobs.
We stand by our child's grave. Her name was going to be Lilith Rose Fenton. The father of her holds me in his arms, and I the grieving mother weeps into his chest.
"A flower bloomed already wilting. Beginning its life with an early ending."
― R.J. Gonzales, Mundahlia