She can't move from the toilet. She is too numb to stand, too numb to feel the cramps in her womb. Her hands are still shaking, her feet braced apart and her tiny shred of hope flushed. The blood draws down her leg and she can't hear Sonny screaming any longer and her own throat is dry from it. Her tears fall so slowly, she barely recognizes that she is crying.

But she does.

She cries and holds her stomach. Holds that empty place where their child should be. But he's not.

He's gone.

Already an angel.

She can't feel Jason picking her up and wrapping her in a white towel that quickly stains red. She can't hear him when he tells her she's going to be all right. And she can't see the concern in his eyes as he lays her down on the bed, where she immediately folds her body tight to her chest and her hands grip at her belly. She can't taste the pill he slips past her lips or the water that helps it down.

She's too numb.

For a moment when she wakes, hours seem like minutes and her mind is cloudy. For a spit-second she forgets. Then her hands bunch at the white fabric and she catches sight of a crimson stain.

She remembers.

It comes back to her so fast her head aches with the knowledge and there are more tears. There are voices. Low whispers that she can't clearly make out. Jason. Sonny. Max.

Standing, she's surprised how shaky her legs are. How shaky her entire body is. She doesn't feel the same. She feels empty and alone. She knows why. The baby is gone.

Unravelling the towel from her waist, she stares down at the deep red blood. Her eyes are transfixed. Is this her blood or his? Sweet, little Morgan, who was too week for this world. Too weak for the trauma of her life.

Would he have had Sonny's smile, those round dimples and her blonde hair? Would he have a combination of their dark eyes and long, thick lashes? Who would he have been like?

She can't think about it. Doesn't want to, really.

Bunching up the towel, she throws it into the trash, closing the green bag so she won't have to look at it and be reminded. She doesn't want to think of what she lost...again.

Not again.

She wants to scream, but it's too late. She's screamed all she can and it's time to be strong.

Dressing, she doesn't dare look down at her stomach; afraid to see the flatness of her belly. Afraid because it didn't have the chance to grow and now...it never will.

When she applies her make-up, she doesn't stop the silent tears, she lets them run and wipes them away when she is finished. Her face is flawless and she gives a smile to the mirror to test it out. It works.

She is the strong one.

Things don't affect her.

She believes that.

Others believe that.

Walking down the stairs, she is not careful. There is no need to be careful anymore. The men stop their chatter and through red-brimmed eyes they face her and there are no words. No one speaks.

No one has too.

Max gives her a sympathetic look and slips out the door, his broad shoulders bumping the frame as he stumbles his way out. That's how it will be with all the guards and with all the people who don't know what to say.

She's used to it.

She's done this before.

She steels herself to that fact.

She can do this.

"Carly," Jason says quietly, approaching her and taking her elbow in his massive, strong, calloused hands. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she answers cooly and takes a seat next to Sonny.

Sonny looks her way, but can't see her. He's too far off in that dark place again. So close to drowning, she can feel the heat coming from him. The torment and torture is written in his black eyes.

Jason rubs his hand down his face, aware of the sting coming to his eyes. "I'll leave you two alone, unless-" he tells her and tries to hide his own anguish and grief.

"No, go ahead," she assures him and she is the picture of calm.

Jason nods his head and slowly walks toward the door; the heaviness of the day weighing on his sturdy shoulders and magnifies the heavy steps he takes.

She watches as his shadow leaves and waits to hear the door click and then turns her attention back to Sonny. Her hands come to his olive skin and she thumbs away the wetness she finds there. His lip quivers and his body shakes and she knows he feels everything she feels and maybe more.

Three babies.

Three dead babies.

They don't need words anymore.

Coaxing Sonny into her arms, she cradles his head against her bosom and rubs the back of his head, whispering she's sorry. The tears fall from her eyes and she doesn't acknowledge them.

She never does.

She is sorry.

He is sorry.

They're always sorry and never satisfied with the remorse. It will never end. The pain is too deep. Too thick to wipe away.

They can be sorry for the rest of their lives, but that won't bring Morgan back and they both know it.

She is the strong one.

People believe that about her.