She thought about rent. Mostly, she thought about not making a scene. When she finally collapsed, it wasn’t dramatic.
She just went down like her body had quietly decided it couldn’t do this anymore. Someone shouted. Someone else called for help.
She waved them off and pulled out her phone with shaking hands, because she knew better than to wait for permission. She called an Uber to the ER. By the time they saw her, it was too late.
She lost the baby. The hospital room was white and still and unbearably quiet. I remember the way Mom stared at the wall, like if she looked anywhere else the truth might break loose and flood the room.
