In my previous life, Juniper was adamant about me taking her to the gym. When I refused to go along, she retaliated with an ultimatum—a hunger strike.
I had no choice but to look up the rules online. The experts reassured me that, with caution, moderate exercise could be safe during pregnancy.
So, with a resigned sigh, I dropped Juniper off at the gym.
It didn’t take too long, Juniper immediately hit it off with the trainer who had abs that looked like they were chiseled from stone. They struck up a lively conversation and before I knew it, they’d scheduled extra private sessions together.
“Daph, I’m going to start working out now. Come pick me up in two hours.”
Juniper was trying to get rid of me.
With the gym trainer’s help, they headed into the changing room.
Less than two hours later, Juniper suddenly called me, her voice filled with pain.
“Daph, come pick me up and take me to the hospital!”
I raced into the gym and was met with a scene that made my heart drop. Juniper lay sprawled on the yoga mat, clad only in a yoga top, her face an unusually shade of red. She was gasping for air, writhing in pain, with a disturbing pool of blood forming beside her.