The pain arrived all at once, sharp and overwhelming.

I couldn’t even speak at first.

Our neighbor, Mrs. Patel, rushed out in her robe.

“Oh honey,” she said, kneeling beside me. “Don’t move. Can you feel your fingers?”

I nodded through tears, shaking.

She tried calling my husband.

No answer.

We were steps from the front door, and he still didn’t pick up.

Mrs. Patel called for help and stayed with me until I could be safely taken in.

It wasn’t just the injury that humiliated me.

It was the feeling of being left there, outside, while the person who vowed to care for me stayed comfortably inside.

At the hospital, the doctor confirmed what I already suspected.