When I woke up in the hospital, the world had shrunk to a room washed in artificial light. My body throbbed with deep, internal pain, and the rhythmic beeping of a monitor was the only proof I was still tethered to this world.
Before I could gather my thoughts, Caleb, my husband, stormed in—not with concern, but with rage. His words cut through my fog of pain, accusing me of a “performance” that cost him dearly.
I whispered, “please, I’m hurt,” but he responded with deliberate violence. The room exploded as staff intervened, and amidst the chaos, a voice revealed a truth that cut deeper than any injury—I was pregnant.
