I grab my phone from the nightstand. A new number he doesn’t know, ‘and dial his from memory, fingers shaking so hard I almost drop the device.
It rings. Once. Twice.
Three times. Voicemail.
I try again. And again.
And again. Nothing.
By the last call, my hands are trembling too violently to think. I barely manage to send three quick texts:
Something’s wrong.
Please pick up.
Colin, it’s me. I need you. Our baby needs you.
There’s no sign of him.
I stare at the screen until the words blur, until the pain gets too strong to sit still.
I grab the first coat I can reach and throw it over my pajamas, barely managing to stay upright on my feet. I shove my feet into a pair of flats, the closest thing I can find, and for a moment I can’t tell if it’s panic or reality, but it feels like I won’t stop bleeding.
Like it’s pouring out of me faster than I can hold myself together.
By the time I stumble out of my apartment, I can barely breathe. I lean against the wall, one hand gripping my stomach.
“Maya? Are you okay?”
I open my eyes and see Peter—the guy from across the hall, someone I’ve barely spoken to since I moved in—standing by his door, his hand on the handle.
“My baby,” I murmur, barely able to speak. “Hospital.”
His eyes go wide. They drop lower, and he exhales, “Fuck.”
He pulls his keys from the door and comes straight to me, steadying me.
“I’ll take you. I was out with some friends, but I only had one beer. You’re safe. I promise.”
I nod, but I barely register what he’s saying. I just need this pain to stop.
Peter holds me the entire way—in the elevator, to his car. During the drive, his eyes keep flicking back to me, like he’s making sure I’m conscious.
Every bump in the road feels like a knife twisting deeper. I press my hand to my stomach, whispering the same words over and over…please, please, please. Don’t let anything happen to him.
When we reach the hospital, Peter has to help me to the entrance. I can barely stand on my own.
The moment we cross through the doors, the receptionist calls for someone, and I’m rushed into a wheelchair.
Everything after that turns into a blur.
When I open my eyes again, everything smells like antiseptic and iron.
A white ceiling. Cold air.
A curtain half drawn around me.
I try to sit up, but the world spins.
