Sandra leapt through the air, legs in a near perfect split.
She landed gracefully, not missing a beat of the waltz. One two three, two two three…
Above the unobtrusive whisper of Chopin’s melody, Sandra heard Dave’s footsteps and the wooden boards groaning under his weight.
Sandra pirouetted. Three two three… Distracted, she lost her balance and fell in the corner where the cot once stood.
The door slammed open. “Oh darling! The doc said not to overexert yourself – ”
Dave held Sandra tightly as she began to sob and to caress her stomach.
“Grace… Grace would have been born today...”
Once again, I'm taking part in 
This story's a poignant tribute to loss, particularly a loss of an unborn child. In my previous story, it was also about losing a child.
I'm not sure why my recent stories tend to be so tragic and revolve around death and loss. Probably because I am pondering more on the inevitability of death and the inevitability of loss.