Your face it haunts
My once pleasant dreams
She woke up, screaming. He had been there, telling her she'd be nothing without him. Nothing, nothing at all. She was a dirty whore. The baby couldn't be his. He'd never had a child before!
His words echoed that of his letter.
She'd held the wand to her stomach, contemplating her death along with the child's. In the end, though, she'd put it down and gone back to her nightmare-ridden sleep.
He wasn't going to win.
July.