At my daughter's third birthday pool party, she pointed at my stepmom's stomach and said, "Daddy's in there" — I laughed until I saw WHAT she was actually pointing at.

Marcus violently yanked the steering wheel, spinning the sports car into the muddy embankment to avoid a fatal crash.

Airbags deployed with a deafening pop, filling the cabin with thick, white smoke.

I kicked my door open and stumbled out into the tall grass, completely ignoring the sharp pain in my ribs.

The dump truck driver jumped out of his cab, clearly paid off by Clara's corrupt police connections.

Marcus crawled out of the wreckage, pulled a sleek silver pistol from his jacket, and aimed it at the driver.

The corrupt driver instantly threw his hands in the air and ran away into the nearby woods.

We had survived the ambush, but Glen's SUV was gaining a massive lead toward the private airfield.

Marcus flagged down a passing pickup truck, aggressively flashing a fake FBI badge to commandeer the vehicle.

We jumped into the stolen truck and drove relentlessly, pushing the engine well past the redline.

Twenty minutes later, we crashed through the chain-link fence of the deserted private airfield.

A sleek, white Gulfstream jet was idling on the runway, its jet engines screaming loudly in preparation for takeoff.

I could see Glen carrying Ariel up the metal stairs, while Clara barked orders at the pilot.

I leaped out of the moving truck and sprinted across the tarmac with every ounce of strength I had left.

I screamed Ariel’s name, my voice completely raw and echoing over the roar of the engines.

When my newborn 'passed away,' my mother-in-law leaned in and said

My Husband Left Me Alone in My Car While I Was in Labor

“You’re Dead When We Get Home,” He Snapped

Glen turned around on the stairs, his face instantly draining of all color when he saw me.

Clara realized they were out of time, pulled a small handgun from her designer purse, and pointed it directly at Ariel's head.

Chapter 7 - The Tarmac