“Okay,” I say, turning back to the board. “GIRAFFE. Repeat after?—”
I cut myself off as I blink and tiny dots appear before my eyes. The room suddenly feels like it’s shifted a few degrees off its axis.
I give a shake of my head and grip at the edge of my desk to steady myself. I probably just stood up too fast.
Or possibly low blood sugar. I haven’t eaten since the cake at the party, and that was a couple hours ago.
But even as I take a moment to clutch at my desk and regain composure, the dizziness doesn’t pass. It only intensifies.
The whiteboard blurs in front of me, the words I wrote swimming as if suddenly animated. Letters hover in front of others and then double. My heart begins to race, pounding faster as all other sounds in the classroom become muted.
A cold sweat has broken out across my forehead. Down the back of my neck.
“Ssaem?” a girl named Yuna says, frowning. “Are you okay?”
I open my mouth to answer, but my tongue feels thick and clumsy. The words come out slurred, barely coherent. It almost sounds like someone else speaking.
“I’m… I just need to…”
The walls are spinning, a nauseating carousel of colors and shapes. The children have risen half out of their seats, clearly frightened, sounding more distant than ever.
My legs are trembling, refusing to hold my weight.
I stagger for my chair, desperate to rest, but my hand misses entirely. The floor rushes up to meet me to a chorus of terrified screams.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been out when I’m lucid enough to make out the beep of a hospital monitor. It pulls me from the dark nothingness I’m trapped in.
My eyelids struggle to open, heavier than usual, as I fight to fully wake up.
Above me is a white ceiling and fluorescent lights. I’m lying in a bed with what seems to be an IV taped to the back of my hand, a thin blanket draped over my body.
The baby.
Panic surges through me. My hands fly to my stomach, desperately searching for the familiar bump, the reassurance that my son’s still growing inside me. As my palm glides over the swell, I realize he’s still there.
He’s still with me.
Yet the fear doesn’t completely subside. What happened? Why am I here? Is he okay?!
“Monroe! Oh, thank the Lord, you’re awake!”
Mom appears at my bedside, her face streaked with tears and eyes red-rimmed. She grabs my hand and squeezes it tight, her grip almost painful in its intensity.
“Mom,” I croak, my throat scratchy. “What happened? The baby—is the baby?—”
“The doctors say he’s fine, Moni. They’re monitoring him, but he’s okay.” She presses a kiss to my forehead, her lipsquivering. “You scared me half to death. They called me and said you collapsed at the school—in the middle of the classroom. I thought… I thought?—”
She can’t even bring herself to finish the sentence.
I sink back against the pillows, relief washing over me in waves. The baby isokay.
Whatever happened, whatever went wrong, my son is still safe inside me.
But the relief is short-lived, chased away by a different kind of anxiety.
“Where’s Jin?” I ask, scanning the room as if he might materialize from behind the plant in the corner. “Has anyone called him?”
Mom’s expression flickers, brows knitting. “We’ve been trying to reach him, baby. Sang-cheol has called him a dozen times. I’ve left messages. He’s just... he’s not answering right now.”
