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Whenever Amara allowed herself to remember her first ultrasound, her emotions rushed up into her chest in a jumble. It was easier for her to focus on the feelings she had felt then--six months and three days ago. Fear and wonder. She was afraid to tell the baby's father. She was afraid to tell her parents. She was afraid to be a mother. But the fear had dissolved into wonder. This tiny human was alive in her--depended on her. Then the cycle of fear had started over again. After all the grief and joy...after all the ups and downs...it had all come to an inglorious end, while she had been asleep. That end now became an emptiness inside her that hadn't even existed six months and four days ago. How could she be so hollowed out so quickly? How could something so precious be taken away right as she began to recognize it's value? Even as her desire grew? Worst of all, Amara felt guilt. If she had wanted the child from the beginning...if she had cherished it differently. If she had decided on a name. If only she would have named her son before he died.