The look in his eyes changed from fury to fear.
The next ten minutes blurred into lights, hands, voices, the metallic squeak of a gurney being wheeled over polished wood. Paramedics lifted me with agonizing care. Every inch of movement hurt. I kept asking if the baby was moving, and nobody would answer directly, which scared me more than anything else.
Daniel rode in the ambulance with me, one hand wrapped around mine so tightly my fingers went numb. He spoke in a calm voice for my sake, but I could hear the tremor in it every time the siren wailed.
“You and the baby are getting help,” he said. “That’s all that matters right now.”
“Don’t let them near me,” I whispered.
His grip tightened. “They won’t come within ten feet of you again.”
By the time we got to St. Mary’s, the contractions were coming hard and close together. Nurses rushed me into labor and delivery while doctors fired questions over my body.
“How far along?”
“Thirty-four weeks.”
“Any complications in the pregnancy?”
“No.”
“Direct abdominal trauma?”
“Yes.”
