When I saw his eyes rimmed red with anxiety, I'd felt a surge of relief.
Thank God I didn't choose wrong.
But once I was inside that room, the pain tore through me like I was being split in two. Veins bulged across my forehead and neck.
And Brendan? He stood off to the side. Indifferent. His only focus was holding up his phone, recording my face as it contorted in agony.
He'd called it "documenting the birth of our first child."
Then the baby shifted wrong. The doctor recommended an emergency C-section and asked him to stay a moment longer—just to talk to me, calm me down.
He didn't even look back. Just pocketed his phone and walked out.
"Brendan, look at this part—doesn't she look exactly like that porn star from the video we watched? The facial expression is identical. If you didn't know better, you'd think Naomi was—"
Charity rewound the video on her phone and cranked up the volume, replaying it.
I forced my eyes open. Stiff. Unblinking.
I saw Brendan lean in toward her screen. The mockery in their eyes was a perfect match.
"She... looks way worse than any porn star right now. And her body's nowhere near as hot..."
He delivered his verdict with casual boredom. Then, as if worried Charity might not believe him, he rattled off my measurements from late pregnancy for comparison.
"That actress? 34-23-34. Naomi? The only thing that comes close is her hips—and only because she's pregnant."
The words landed.
Their jeering laughter tangled together.
It stabbed into my eardrums like needles.
Beneath the blanket, my fingers curled weakly into the sheet, leaving a single crease in the fabric.
"Brendan Henson."
My voice came out hoarse. Scraped raw. Drained of everything.
The two on the cot beside me went dead silent the moment they heard my voice.
Brendan turned. When his eyes met my icy stare, a flicker of discomfort crossed his face—but he recovered fast.
"Naomi… you're awake?"
"Are you feeling okay? Do you want some water?"
His expression smoothed into perfect composure as he poured a glass and brought it to my lips.
I said nothing for a moment, then leaned forward and let the water wet my cracked lips.
"So. Are you going to explain? The video."
His hand froze.
I looked past him. On Charity's phone screen, still glowing bright, was footage of me—writhing, screaming, giving birth.
She caught my gaze. Her smile stretched wider.
"Hey, sis," she chirped.