A/N:This takes place between the second epilogue of The One and the Heir, keep that in mind. I'm sorry in advance, this is super depressing. It bothers me when authors use a pregnancy as a happy ending, because so many pregnancies don't end with a newborn. Writing this was very personal for me, and I have used reading and writing about this series as my own kind of therapy. Let me know what you think.

Completely engrossed on the report in front of me, I barely noticed the knock on the door.

Before I could invite the person in, the door opened and Justin entered.

"Sir," his eyes were wary. "It's America"

My papers went flying as I jumped from my desk

Staying near the door, he continued, "She is in the hospital wing, she collapsed." My heart fell and I headed quickly towards the door. Out of character for he, or any staff member, he caught my arm before I could exit. Looking at him, his expression reminded me of someone about to put down a wounded animal. "The baby, sir" and he shook his head.

Suddenly the world tilted, crashing around me, and I fell onto the wall for support. Ever since America announced her pregnancy at my birthday party, she and I had been floating on air, excitedly planning for our first born by picking out baby names and even beginning to redecorate a room near ours.

America.

The urgency to reach her came back full force and I raced down the hall.

The last bed in the medical wing had a curtain wrapped around it. Nauseated by worry and anguish, I marched quickly towards it. The doctor came around the corner "Your majesty," he bowed quickly. "I have just finished my examination..."

Pushing past him, I didn't stop until I pulled open the curtain to see America. She looked so small, curled on the bed, her face in her pillow and tearstains on her cheek.

I quietly sat next to her but she didn't look at me. "Darling..." I choked up, unable to speak. Her silent sobs rocked the bed.

I stood up, waved away the concerned doctor, and closed the curtain around us. Crawling into bed beside her, she finally turned to me, a tortured look in her eye, and buried her face in my chest.

We didn't talk for hours, both of us drowning in our tears and sorrows. When we finally ran out of tears, we laid quietly, a heartbreak building in my chest.

I sighed, smoothing her hair. "We will get through this," I finally whispered. "I love you, America."

A new round of sobs overcame her small frame. "I'm... so... sorry," she said between breaths.

Startled at her words, I sat up quickly. "America, look at me." Hesitantly, she turned to face me. "The last few weeks have been some of the happiest days of my life. When you told me at my birthday party that I was going to be a father..." My voice cracked. "But I want to be clear, this is not your fault. Nothing you did caused this, and we will get through it together."

"But maybe it is! Maybe the stress of my position... or how scared I was. Maybe I didn't love..."

She started crying uncontrollably.

"Shhh." I said, rubbing her head, wiping tears away from her eyes.

A week later, I was walking down the hall and heard sobs coming from a room next to our bedroom. I paused, recognizing the sounds I had grown so accustomed to over the last few days. Hesitantly opening the door, I saw my beautiful wife, kneeling on the floor, holding a small baby outfit to her face. I recognized the clothes as some that Marlee, one of the only ones to know about the pregnancy, had given America when she heard the exciting news.

The sight of America now, so broken, was too much for me. "America..." I said softly, tears falling down my cheek. I had tried to be strong for her after that first day, but I could feel my heart getting ripped out at the sight of my wife in so much anguish.

She didn't turn to me, burying her eyes further into the delicate clothing. I sat beside her, pulling her towards me.

"I had imagined... our baby..." she sobbed.

"I know, darling. So did I."

"We will never get to see her grow up. Never get to see her smile. I just want to hear her cry, once."

"Her?" I asked.

America sniffled, "I just always pictured a her. She was beautiful, Maxon. She would have your hair... your smile..." She broke down again.

"America, we will have that. Someday, you will hold our child in your arms and she will be beautiful."

"You can't know that. There could be a problem, something we can't fix. I could fail at my one duty and never give you an heir," she said angrily. I opened my mouth to say I didn't care, that all I wanted was her, but she continued, "Besides, I want this baby. And she's dead. This baby was important to me, she was... us. You don't understand, I know I couldn't feel her yet, but she has been with me, these last few weeks and I could feel my stomach growing, I imagined her, the size of a grape, growing little arms... I wanted this baby."

"So did I, darling."

Three months had passed since that dreadful day. My life felt like it had been divided into before and after.

Before, I was happy. I finally had a beautiful partner who cared for me more than anything. Everything else from before seemed so small, so insignificant. Had we really fought about the other girls? Had anything from our first two years of marriage really mattered? How had I ever thought I knew what love meant, or heartbreak?

After, America would barely look at me. I found her often, in the room next to ours, the one she had intended as the nursery. She sat on a rocking chair, facing the window. The ache I felt whenever I looked at her was incredible. She was sinking deeper and deeper into depression. I had ordered everyone to cut back on her work, but it hadn't helped. Every time I tried to talk to her, she pushed me away. She began to sleep in her separate room, curled up before I arrived. In the middle of the night, I could hear her quiet sobs, but she brushed away any of my attempts to console her. I had begrudgingly asked Aspen to speak with her. When he returned to my office, his expression was haunted at the pain of the woman he once loved. Sometimes I would find Marlee or Lucy sitting beside America, just holding her hand. But when I would ask them later how she was, they would just shake their head sadly. I felt as though I had aged a hundred years over the last few months with all the pain I bore.

I took a deep breath and walked into the nursery, where I knew I would find her. I knelt down next to her. "How are you, today, my darling?"

"The same," she replied quietly, her voice detached. She didn't look at me, instead staring out the window and into the garden below.

I sighed, watching her. Her face was blank... empty. I felt like I was losing her. "Would you like to go for a walk? It would be good.."

"No," she interrupted angrily. Catching herself, she said more softly, "No, I'm fine here."

I closed my eyes and buried my face in her lap. Her grief was affecting me so deeply. I felt as though I was being torn in two. I had allowed her space, time... But it felt as though she was pulling herself farther from reality. She had long ago began taking her meals in her room, and I noticed the maids walking away with mostly full trays more than once. She looked gaunt, broken. I felt so overwhelmed, I didn't know how to help her.

"Please," I begged. "Talk to me, America. I feel like I am losing you."

She looked into my eyes for a long time before she finally spoke, "I know it was early in the pregnancy. But I had imagined a whole life. Birthdays, weddings... and it was all torn away from me. I'm broken and I can't put myself back together." She pressed a hand against her heart, as if she was trying to hold it inside of her. "I don't feel... anything but pain. All the time. It's like my heart is on fire... or has been ripped to shreds. I don't know how to move on from this. I can never be the same." She looked back out the window. There was a deadness to her voice as she explained.

"I'm here for you, America. This was my baby too, and I loved it. I would do anything to fix this."

"I don't want you..." she paused, considering, still not looking at me. "I just want to be left alone. I'm fine, please don't worry about me, you have a country to run."

My heart skipped a beat. She didn't want me? "America," my voice was soft, on the verge of tears. "Do you... do you still love me?"

Her expression fell and she pulled my face into her lap. "Of course," she whispered. "I'm so sorry..." she started to cry again. "I'm trying, I really am. I love you and I know this will get better someday. I just..."

"Shh," I comforted. "I'm sorry, my dear. I shouldn't have said anything."

She shot me a glare, but I noticed a slight smile on her lips at my use of the forbidden endearment. I looked at her, a small glimpse of her old self, and felt more at peace than I had ever since the day we got the news. She was still in there, the woman I loved. And I knew she would come back to me someday.