“You need to be more careful,” Tyler said, setting his briefcase down. “Mom’s been cooking all day, and you’ve been sitting around complaining.”

I’d been seven months pregnant and experiencing severe cramping for hours. Sitting around. That’s what he called it.

An ambulance came only because our neighbor, Mrs. Chen, heard my screams through the open window and called 911 without asking anyone’s permission. I remember the paramedics rushing in, the cold efficiency of their movements as they loaded me onto the stretcher. Patricia tried to send them away, insisting I was being hysterical, but they ignored her completely.

The emergency room became a blur of machines and urgent voices. A doctor with kind eyes told me they needed to perform an emergency C-section. The burns had sent my body into early labor and the baby was in distress. I signed forms with shaking hands while a nurse cut away my soup-stained clothes.