Somewhere else. The words landed with humiliating precision, as if I were nothing more than an issue he could relocate. My hands trembled too much to close the bag. Another contraction bent me forward, and I had to sit on the edge of the bed to keep from collapsing. Jason watched without lifting a finger.
With one thumb, I called my neighbor. My other hand pressed against my belly. Mrs. Alvarez arrived within minutes, barefoot and wrapped in a cardigan, horror flashing across her face when she saw me struggling to stand. Jason didn’t escort us out. He leaned against the hallway wall and said lazily, “Don’t come back.”
The drive to the hospital felt endless. Mrs. Alvarez kept her hand on my shoulder, whispering that I was safe, that I was strong, that men like him weren’t worth the air they breathed. I was admitted shortly after midnight. By morning, the nurses were efficient and gentle, my body focused on its work, and my phone remained silent.
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