Trapped in a hospital bed, hands on my belly, I watched her burst in and hiss, “You think carrying his baby makes you safe?” I barely had time to cry out before she seized my hair and slammed me down, ignoring alarms and frantic nurses. Panic exploded then froze as a cold, familiar voice from the doorway ordered, “Take your hands off my daughter.”…
Over the next hour, while the doctors monitored the baby’s heart rate—which, thankfully, had stabilized—Richard sat in the uncomfortable hospital chair, working on his tablet. He didn’t try to hug me. He didn’t try to apologize for the past. He did what he knew how to do: he went to war. “You think he loves…
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