She wasn’t smiling anymore.
“Victoria,” my father called as they wheeled me toward the ambulance. “Tell them this was a misunderstanding.”
I turned my head.
“You pulled me out by my hair.”
“You were hysterical!”
“You threw me onto the porch.”
“I was trying to calm you down!”
One of the officers stepped between us.
“Sir, that’s enough.”
As the ambulance doors closed, I saw my father reach for his phone again.
He was still trying to save his business.
I was trying to save my baby.
At St. Joseph’s Hospital, everything happened quickly.
A nurse checked my blood pressure. Another connected monitors to my abdomen. The obstetrician explained that although my water had broken early, they were watching my daughter’s heart rate closely and evaluating whether delivery could safely be delayed.
I kept asking the same question.
“Is she okay?”
Finally, the doctor squeezed my hand.
