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Drama.
I was nine months pregnant. My husband, Ryan, was overseas on a work trip he couldn’t leave. My doctor had warned me the baby might come early and fast. That morning, I had begged my mother to stay with me, just in case. She promised she would.
Now she was grabbing her purse.
She sighed loudly, annoyed. “You’re exaggerating like always. Women give birth every day. Call a car.”
They walked out together, laughing about decorations and guests, leaving the door to slam shut behind them. The silence that followed was terrifying.
