The realization came hard and fast, out of nowhere.
It stole her breath away, locking it shut.
The tightness in her chest wouldn't recede;
some awkward reminder.

It's been over nine months since it happened,
nine months of tears and secrets bleeding into pillowcases. 

She didn't grieve, remained in strangest denial.
Taking a second breath was somehow impossible,
the gasping hitch of her breath shuttering pain.

Like the home always open to her,
full of smiling faces and teasing jokes;
that door was nailed shut,
a sign hung off of it "Don't come back."

Second-best or safest choice,
never the first or the best,
she packs up her bags.