It never lived.

Tears burned his eyes immediately, causing Roza’s reflection to blur. He snapped his head back, a rush of air leaving him before being sucked quickly back in.

Nephilim lived a life of pain and confusion from the day he slipped from his mother’s womb to the day she revealed such ugly truths of his conception and what hatred lay true in her heart. He’d become convinced that the worst he could live was already behind him and the rest would be a series of small challenges he could ultimately overcome. Never did he fathom he would have to hear those words. His first child was dead, never once given a chance to breathe Tinuvel’s air; never once could Nephilim watch in wonder as his foal learned the world, and he righted whatever wrongs were done to him by giving all the love he’d never had to his child.

But it was only after the initial shock and heartache subsided that his mind grasped to her second statement. Blinked at the tears, a few breaking free of his eyelids and sliding down his cheek, he looked to Roza’s side. “Rohanne.” His heart bled into her name. “I’m so sorry,” he said, though he wasn’t sure why the words tumbled out so quickly – was it because she’d had to go through the ordeal of carrying and birthing a child that never lived, thus obvious having more hardship than he did, or was it because somewhere inside he was afraid this might somehow be his fault?

He was at a loss. What could he do for her, for himself, to alleviate this pain? There was nothing. No words would bring back a life that never was, and it hurt just to think of it.