I hit the floor on my knees, then my side. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. Then I felt warmth spreading between my legs.

I looked down.

Blood.

Carol’s face went pale, but she still said the most unbelievable thing I had ever heard.

“She made me do it.”

Tyler stared at his mother, then at me, then at the blood on the floor. Something in him shifted completely. He pulled out his phone with shaking hands, looked straight at her, and said, “No more lies. I’m calling the police.”

Part 2

Everything that followed felt both too fast and unbearably slow.

Tyler dropped beside me on the floor while speaking to the emergency operator. His voice shook as he gave our address and said, “My mother assaulted my pregnant wife. She’s bleeding. Please hurry.” I had never heard him sound like that before—not exactly fear, but like something inside him had broken. His father, Jim, stood near the counter in stunned silence, one hand braced against it. Carol kept repeating, “I didn’t mean it. She provoked me. I barely touched her.” But even she sounded less certain with each word.

I couldn’t focus on them. The pain in my stomach came in waves that felt terribly wrong. I held my belly and whispered, “Please stay. Please stay.” Tyler pressed a dish towel between my legs, his hands trembling so badly he could barely hold it steady.

The paramedics arrived first. Then the police. Then chaos.

An officer separated Carol while the paramedics lifted me onto a stretcher. Tyler insisted on riding with me. I remember the ambulance ceiling, the harsh white lights, the smell of antiseptic, Tyler’s grip crushing my fingers, and the siren screaming over everything I couldn’t say. I kept asking if our baby still had a chance. No one answered clearly. That was answer enough.