So that was it. My daughter and I together couldn't outweigh one pouty request from his dear little sister.
I clutched my baby and tried to move. My legs screamed in protest.
The moment I shifted, something warm and wet gushed between my thighs. The white sheets bloomed crimson beneath me.
Ruth shrieked.
"EW! Oh my God, that's disgusting! Look at all that—that blood! It smells horrible!" She pressed a hand to her chest, staggering dramatically. "I'm going to have nightmares!"
She flung herself into Cyril's arms—and with one vicious swipe, ripped the blanket off my body.
Cold air hit my skin like a slap.
I lay exposed in nothing but a postpartum diaper. The eight-centimeter incision across my abdomen was still seeping, blood trickling down to join the mess pooling beneath me.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The door was wide open. People walked past, glancing in.
I wanted to disappear. To sink through the floor. I felt like I'd been stripped naked and thrown into the street.
"Cover me." My voice cracked with humiliation. "Please."
Something flickered across Cyril's face—discomfort, maybe. He shifted to block the doorway and pulled the blanket back over me.