Friends offered to stay with me, but I kept saying I was fine. The truth was, I didn’t want anyone to see how broken I really felt.
Every night I lay awake, one hand on my belly, whispering to my baby that everything would be okay—even though I wasn’t sure I believed it myself.
Then, one rainy evening, the pain began.
At first, it was just a dull ache in my back.
But within an hour, the contractions were strong enough to make me gasp.
“Not yet,” I whispered, gripping the kitchen counter. “Please not yet.”
My due date was still weeks away.
I tried calling Daniel again.
Voicemail.
My heart raced. Panic spread through my chest as another contraction hit, sharper this time.
I was alone.
Completely alone.
I was just about to call an ambulance when my phone rang.
Daniel’s name lit up the screen.
My heart jumped.
“Daniel?” I answered immediately.
But it wasn’t his voice.
“Hi… is this Sarah?” a man asked carefully.
“Yes?”
“This is Mark. I’m Daniel’s supervisor.”
My stomach tightened.
“Is… is everything okay?”
There was a brief pause.
“I’m actually outside your house,” he said gently.
My heart stopped.
“What?”
read more in next page
