The handle turned—thankfully, I had forgotten to lock the door after Travis left. Lauren rushed in, her eyes widening at the sight of me. “Oh my God—you’re in labor!” She hurried to my side. “Where’s Travis? Where’s your family?”
“Gone,” I gasped between contractions. “Shopping. Please, Lauren. Something’s wrong.”
Lauren didn’t hesitate. She called 911 and helped me to her car. The engine was still running—she had just come by to drop off a wedding invitation, she would later tell me. Coincidence or fate, her arrival saved me.
The ride to Mercy General blurred into pain and fear. Lauren sped through red lights, gripping my hand while I cried out with each contraction. At the ER entrance, staff were waiting with a wheelchair. Within minutes, I was in a delivery room.
“The babies are in distress,” a nurse said grimly, watching the fetal monitors. “We need Dr. Patterson here—now.”
The next half hour descended into chaos. Doctors and nurses rushed around me, their voices urgent but controlled. One baby’s heart rate was dropping. An emergency C-section was a real possibility. Someone asked about my medical history, but I could barely process the question.
Then the delivery room doors flew open. Travis stood there, his face flushed with anger. His mother and sister stood behind him, just as furious. I had no idea how they found me so quickly—maybe the hospital had contacted my emergency number.
“Stop this drama,” Travis yelled as he charged toward my bed. A security guard stepped in front of him, but he pushed past. “I won’t waste my money on your pregnancy.”
The only sound in the room was the steady beeping of monitors. Even through the pain, I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard. The nurses looked at one another in disbelief. Dr. Patterson paused in the middle of examining me.
“What did you just say?” I managed to ask.
