We are told one in four pregnancies ends in miscarriage, often before the twelfth week. But the quiet waiting room in the clinic tells a different story, of more of us than that. My own report at eight weeks simply said "pregnancy of unknown location", a clinical term for a loss that felt anything but unknown. Every month, I measure hope in weeks, and the soil under my nails from tending my jasmine reminds me that some roots take time.
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