I watched them all my life-. Older and settled in pain. Young exhausted from endlessly trying. Widows relieved with nothing to mourn. Middle-aged resigned to emotionless existence. They were all around me. So I raised you likewise. And followed along, too. Then, the brokenness became too great. I realized I had become one of them. I had a choice to save myself.

Life is a story being written with each moment we are given.

I have been dreading this day for months. No words can describe the sense of emptiness and the feeling of being cheated, with empty arms on the day I should have met you and held you. All of this comforts my mind and soothes my heart. But my arms and my soul remain at a loss. I am missing a child. So far, Rowan, ever.

The Ramblings of a Young Writer. Just random thoughts, stories, and stuff that pops into my head. I must have fainted because the next thing I knew, I felt someone slapping my hands and dabbing my face with a damp cloth. I opened my eyes and found myself looking up at the face of my aunt. A throbbing pain shot through my head and my legs felt weak as I stood. Lord Matthew took my hand and helped me to my chair.