Chapter 1 - The Shattered Plate
Emily bent over in agonizing pain as the ceramic plate shattered across the kitchen floor.
I caught her just before her knees hit the broken pieces of porcelain.
Her fingers dug into my forearms with a strength that terrified me.
She let out a suffocated gasp, her face turning an alarming shade of gray.
From the living room, the loud reality television show continued to blare.
My mother and sisters did not even pause their conversation to ask what had happened.
I scooped my wife into my arms, ignoring the burning exhaustion in my own muscles.
“I’ve got you,” I whispered, carrying her out of the kitchen and into the living room.
My mother finally looked up from her bag of potato chips with an expression of pure annoyance.
“Oh, Ethan, stop carrying her like a helpless princess,” Teresa snapped.
“She just dropped a plate because she is clumsy and lazy.”
I did not stop walking, nor did I waste my breath arguing with the woman who birthed me.
I kicked the front door open and carried Emily out into the cold Chicago night.
I carefully placed her in the passenger seat of my car and sped toward the nearest emergency room.
Emily gripped the dashboard, her breathing coming in rapid, terrifyingly shallow gasps.
“The baby,” she cried out, tears streaming down her pale cheeks.
“Something is wrong with the baby, Ethan.”
I grabbed her hand, squeezing it tightly as I ran a red light.
We burst through the hospital doors, and the medical staff immediately rushed her away on a stretcher.
I sat in the sterile waiting room for what felt like an eternity.
My phone buzzed in my pocket with fourteen missed calls from my sister Brittany.
I ignored them all, staring at the double doors until a doctor finally emerged.
His face was grim, and he carried a thick medical chart in his hands.
“Are you Ethan?” the doctor asked quietly.
I stood up, my heart hammering furiously against my ribs.
“Your wife is stable for now, but we are deeply concerned about the baby's erratic heart rate.”
I asked him what was causing the distress, praying it was just a normal complication of the third trimester.
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The doctor looked me dead in the eye and delivered a sentence that shattered my reality.
“Ethan, the toxicology report indicates your wife has ingested a massive, toxic amount of a labor-inducing chemical.”
