I was nearly six months pregnant.
There was bleeding, an ambulance ride, surgery, and medication that blurred the next two days.
Eric told me the baby had not survived.
There was no funeral.
He said the hospital handled everything because the baby was too premature.
I had spent years grieving a daughter I never held.
“You told me she died,” I whispered.
Eric began crying.
“I believed she would.”
The room tilted.
“What does that mean?”
Our baby had been born alive.
She was extremely premature and transferred to a specialist hospital while I remained unconscious.
Eric was told she might suffer severe complications.
Terrified and financially overwhelmed, he contacted Vivian.
“She offered to help,” he said.
Vivian paid the medical costs and arranged accommodation near the specialist hospital.
Then Eric’s mother, Carol, intervened.
Carol had always considered me emotionally fragile. She persuaded Eric that raising a child with possible disabilities would destroy our marriage.
