“Please,” I rasped, the word tearing at my raw throat as I lay immobile, bleeding, pregnant with a broken ankle. “Please, I would give my life to Christ if you save her. Please God, not the baby. You can take anything but not my baby.”
I screamed like one who had lost her mind. “Help me! Help! Help!” But the echoes of my own voice mocked me, told me how vain and useless I was.
Then came the weakness, my eyes drifting close, my body threatening to shut down from the blood loss. I knew I would die right there on this floor if I didn’t help myself.
So I did. Tears poured down my eyes as I dragged red strokes across the white tiles, finally reaching the front door where the intruder alarm button mocked me. Teeth gritted, I leaned up as far as my fingers would reach and slammed it into the red button.
Sirens wailed not quite long after and everything went dark. When I regained consciousness, I screamed for the doctors, yelling for my baby. And the fragile hope that had kept me sane was yanked from me. The doctor’s words echoed in my brain–I’m so sorry, Mrs. Havilliard, but we weren’t able to save the baby. I’m so sorry.”