She tried to answer but the words dissolved into a thin cry of pain that made my stomach twist. When my hand brushed her abdomen she screamed so sharply that the sound echoed against the kitchen cabinets and froze my thoughts.
In that instant every possible plan collapsed into a single straight decision that said hospital immediately and nothing else mattered.
I grabbed my keys, my purse, and a sweatshirt from the chair while our dog barked nervously as if he understood something terrible had begun. Kayla bent forward while we walked toward the car because every step seemed to shake pain through her body.
The emergency room lobby smelled like disinfectant and stale coffee while the television murmured quietly in the corner. I rushed to the desk and the nurse glanced once at Kayla before calling for a wheelchair without hesitation.
They moved quickly after that with blood pressure cuffs, blood samples, and quiet professional questions. Within an hour the doctor returned holding a tablet and wearing the careful expression doctors use when difficult news waits behind calm words.