“There you are,” she snapped, ignoring me entirely and speaking directly to Derek. “I had to drag myself out of bed because your wife can’t handle a little discomfort?”
Another contraction struck and I gasped. Janice narrowed her eyes. “Oh please. Look at her, Derek. She’s performing. This is what she does.”
My vision blurred. My chest tightened. I could feel my pulse hammering in my throat. “Janice,” I managed weakly, “please… not here.”
She stepped closer, her voice growing louder so the whole room could hear. “Not here? Where then? Somewhere private so you can cry and claim I’m ‘mean’?”
A nurse at the desk glanced up, suddenly alert. A couple seated in the corner stared openly. Derek’s cheeks reddened, but he didn’t stop her. Instead, he leaned toward me like I was the problem and whispered, “Mia, please ignore her.”
Ignore her.
I tried. I truly did. But the pain, humiliation, and fear collided inside me like a crashing wave. My hands tingled. My breathing became shallow. The room seemed to tilt. I couldn’t pull in air.
“Derek,” I choked, “I can’t breathe.”
Janice scoffed. “Drama. Always drama.”
My throat tightened completely. Tears spilled—not from sadness, but from panic. I grabbed at the side of the chair, desperate for something steady. A nurse rushed over and crouched in front of me. “Hey, hey—look at me,” she said firmly. “Slow breaths. In through your nose.”
