“Yes.”
The officer’s expression remained neutral.
“We need to ask a few questions.”
As the paramedics carried me toward the ambulance, Lorraine’s voice rose behind me.
“This is an embarrassment!”
The officer replied calmly.
“Ma’am, I recommend lowering your voice.”
The Quiet Room Where I Finally Felt Safe
When I woke later in a hospital room, the air smelled faintly of antiseptic and soft mechanical beeping echoed from a monitor beside the bed.
My father was sitting in a chair near the window, still wearing the dark suit he had likely been working in when he received the call.
When I opened my eyes, he stood immediately.
“I’m here,” he said gently.
My voice felt weak.
“The baby?”
He hesitated for a moment.
Then relief softened his expression.
“The doctors were able to stabilize everything,” he said quietly. “The baby is still with us.”
Tears filled my eyes.
A few minutes later a doctor entered the room and explained that another hour without medical care could have changed the outcome significantly.
After the doctor left, my father sat beside the bed again.
