Up to one in four known pregnancies end in miscarriage. On Wednesday, February 19, 2020, my first pregnancy - a burst ectopic pregnancy, and a pregnancy unknown to me until that day - became one of them. In this piece, I ask that my story be seen and heard in the language of flowers. To feel sorrow at losing a piece of my body and to grieve and mourn the joyful first pregnancy I will never have - dark red roses, marigolds, and purple hyacinth. To remember my and my partner’s first child - rosemary and forget-me-nots. And to seek justice for others whose medical concerns have been overlooked and discounted because of their gender, resulting in near or actual loss of life, and for the pregnant people who now lack the access I had to life-saving reproductive healthcare - black-eyed susans. The medium, cotton hand embroidery with glass beading, is one I began during my recovery from surgery and continued as a comfort during the mandatory quarantine period of the Covid-19 pandemic beginning soon after. In a world where stigma and shame have forced reproductive health dangerously underground, I ask for those who need it to be seen, heard, and cared for.