A/N: Hey! My first story on fan fiction is coming your way!

In advance, I want to tell anyone reading that I am one of those people who enjoy a good angst-y type story with lots of gloom and doom. This being said, this is one of those stories. It's going to be some dark spots and some graphic images so if you're not into that, I suggest you don't read. But if you do decide to, I would really appreciate reviews and feedback. So, without further ado, here it is!

:Prologue: Gone

It was beautiful.

I was in the kitchen when it happened. Tentatively inspecting the remains of a salad my mother had fixed me. One hundred percent free of any meat, it was wet and cold and not very appetizing. But it was healthy and healthy was what I aimed for these days. The Old Stephanie would have been fixing a peanut butter and olive sandwich. But I hadn't eaten one of those for months. Not only because it wasn't healthy but more so because it made me nauseous.

It was absolutely beautiful.

This shouldn't be happened. Not right now, at least. Terror enveloped my heart and I was planning to turn around when the first wave of agony hit me.

The pain was excruciating, almost close to tormenting. It resonated from my chest all the way down to my knees. It felt like my body was cracking in half, splitting down the middle, collapsing inside of itself.

I knew the pain was inevitable but I hadn't expected such an overwhelming amount. It came upon me suddenly, brought me to my knees, made me groan. There was no warning, no stomach aches or cramps. Just intense, gut-wrenching pain. It sucked the breath out of me. I wanted to call someone for help but my purse was in my bedroom and I didn't think I had time. I crawled painstakingly slow towards the door, hoping to make it out of the house. What felt like hours passed before I made it to my front door and pulled myself up.

As I staggered out of my apartment, by pure luck, Dillon Ruddick was there. The building super gave me one look, took in my haggard expression and my soaked sweat pants, before hauling me to his car. While he situated me in the passenger seat, he spewed questions at me. Are you okay? Does it hurt? Are you comfortable? Is someone on their way? Should I call someone? Are you okay?

None of his questions were answered however because I couldn't bring myself to speak over the pain. He must have realized because he screeched out of the lot and took off down the street. He told me it'd be okay, that I'd be okay.

I knew I should have appreciated his care but his words only made me irritated. I wanted him to shut up. I wanted to be rid of this pain. I wanted to know why this was happening. How could he sit there and tell me everything would work out? Nothing was going to be okay. Nothing was ever going to be okay.

I rested my head against the back of the car seat, feeling exhausted and sluggish. Questions blared in my head. Fear wrapped me in a cloud of worry. I suddenly felt incredibly vulnerable.

I needed to call someone. Inform everyone what was going on. I turned to tell Dillion this but, suddenly, I was bent over, clutching my stomach. I remembered hearing his panic filled voice but I couldn't make out any words. I could only focus on the pain in my abdomen and the time that passed until it would stop. I didn't remember arriving at the hospital. Didn't recall being dragged in or wheeled off to a room, leaving Dillon standing in the waiting room, wringing his hands.

I was in a bed, eyes glazed, head pounding, legs splayed apart. Dark eyes stared down at me, sunken into the face of a pale woman. Dr. Yvette. The woman I had gone to for my monthly check ups, the woman who had, just yesterday, told me that this wouldn't be happening for another month or so.

She gave me a smile but the uncertainty in her eyes was obvious. Her words sounded like they were all running together. I heard her explain that they could do nothing further at this point. I heard her say that we would have to begin shortly. Blood pounded in my head, my eyes weren't focusing. I wanted to scream at her, to tell her that they had to do more. I wanted to cry and yell and demand what had caused this, to ask why I deserved this.

Instead, I asked, hoarsely, if anyone had shown up. She reluctantly shook her head. I began to feel claustrophobic. The walls were closing in on me, squeezing my lungs. There was no way I could do this alone, I realized. I just couldn't.

But Dr. Yvette smiled and said that it'd all be okay, though, because she would be here to support me the entire time. Anger ebbed at my core. I would have liked it more if everyone was just as worried as me. I would have loved it if everyone would stop trying to give me false hope.

Suddenly, something started to beep and Dr. Yvette yelled that I was dilating and told me to relax. I opened my mouth to object, as if I had a choice in the matter, but something sharp was stuck into my neck, or my back. I wasn't entirely sure. The world begun to get hazy and slow.

They had given me drugs, I realized in relief.

It was perfect.

I felt disorientated. The room seemed to be spinning. The bed I laid on felt like it was floating. The people around me were blurred and their voices slurred. My stomach felt like it was bloating. I could hear someone, who sounded extremely far away, telling me to push. I clenched my teeth and bared down, using all my strength to do so.

It was mine.

I caught flashes of it, here and there. It was so small, maybe the size of a stuffed animal. Little pink fists, attacking the air. Squinted, red face. Round belly, heaving up and down. And the crying that boomed from lungs that weren't even fully developed yet. Such loud cries. They echoed through my ears and drowned me in a joy I hadn't expected to feel. If it could sound like that then it would be okay, I told myself, it would be just fine.

Then it was gone. The nurses had taken it, I realized, to do whatever it was they did with newborns. Except this time would be different, I knew. They would be running more tests than usual, they would be hooking up tubes, struggling to preserve a life.

I waited for my dizziness to subside from the drugs but it only seemed to grow worse. My body felt weighted down and worn out. The pain was gone but an unsettling uneasiness still remained. I could hear no noise, could see no one around me.

Minutes passed but no one showed up. The fear and trepidation I had felt throughout the event was beginning to encase me and send me into a panic. Where was my mother? My father, my Grandma? Surely, Dillon must have called them. Surely, they were on their way. Where were the nurses? Dr. Yvette?

More time passed and I felt sick. Felt like throwing up.

Suddenly, finally, someone came into view. The face was familiar. Dark hair, dark eyes, white coat. Dr. Yvette. She wasn't smiling, as she had been before. Her face held a shadow, eyes giving off an emotion I could not comprehend. Or, at least, one I didn't want to recognize.

"Where is it?" I asked desperately. My voice was scratchy and tired. "Where's my baby?"

Something flashed in her eyes. Compassion, remorse, sadness.

"I'm sorry Stephanie. He didn't survive."

It was gone.