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When she lay unconscious on that cold pavement, I knew what I'd lost before my mind could accept it. Her pregnancy—gone. The baby we created together, vanished. I'd held onto desperate hope for a miracle, but reality crashed down harder than I ever anticipated. The pain of losing our child twisted through me relentlessly, each passing day a fresh wound. Yet beneath the suffocating grief runs a thread of gratitude she's still breathing, still here in this hospital bed. She's in a coma, suspended between life and the abyss, and I can't lose her too. She's mine—always has been, always will be—and I'll cling to her existence with everything I have, because a world without her is a world I refuse to live in.