A sharp, agonizing tearing sensation ripped through my lower abdomen. It wasn’t a dull ache or a Braxton Hicks contraction. It felt as though a hot knife had been dragged horizontally across my womb.
I gasped, a strangled, wet sound escaping my lips. My vision tunneled, the edges of the room turning fuzzy and dark. I dropped the bucket. The soapy water splashed violently across the immaculate floor, soaking the bottom of my maternity pants.
I collapsed against the side of the sofa, clutching my swollen stomach. The tearing sensation intensified, radiating down my thighs. And then, I felt it. A sudden, terrifying rush of warmth.
I looked down. Bright crimson blood was rapidly soaking through the light grey fabric of my pants, pooling on the hardwood I had just scrubbed.
“Oh God,” I whimpered, the reality of the horror crashing into my brain. “Oh my God.”
Helen finally looked up from her magazine. She didn’t jump up. She didn’t scream for help. Her eyes widened, not in concern for me or her grandchild, but in profound irritation.
“Maya! What are you doing?!” she snapped, pointing a trembling finger at the floor. “The water! The blood! You’re ruining the finish on the Brazilian cherry wood! Leo is going to be furious!”
I ignored her. Panic, cold and absolute, seized my chest. I fumbled blindly in the pocket of my cardigan with shaking, bloodstained fingers and pulled out my phone.
I dialed Leo’s number. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. Please answer. Please, Leo.
The phone rang twice. Then, the automated voice clicked in. Call forwarded to voicemail.
He was ignoring me. He had told me that morning he was playing golf with a prospective client and didn’t want to be “bothered with domestic whining.”
I dialed again, my fingers slipping on the screen.
Call rejected. He had actively pressed the button to send me to voicemail.
The pain flared again, so intense it forced a scream from my throat. My vision blurred heavily. I was losing too much blood. I was losing my baby. The man who had put this child inside me was ignoring my calls because I was an inconvenience to his back nine.
With the last ounce of strength I possessed, my thumb hovered over my contacts. I scrolled past Leo. I scrolled past Helen. I found the only name in my phone that represented absolute, unwavering safety.
I pressed call.
He answered on the first ring. He always did.