It was a quiet night, the kind that could be ordinary. I never imagined it would become a moment that would change my mind.
We'd had a fight earlier that evening—one of those painful arguments that doesn't end in screaming, only in a silence that feels like a wall between hearts. He'd gotten out, and I'd retreated into myself, both too proud, through the collapse.
A few hours later, when the first contraction hit, it took my breath away. Fear and pain mingled, and without thinking, I reached for the phone. I called—once, twice, three times. Each missed call seemed to get more and more intense.
When my brother arrived to admit me to the hospital, he could barely speak through the contractions. The pain was physical, but underneath there was something more acute—heartache.
