The sharp, twisting pain woke me from a dead sleep. Ethan wasn't home, and his phone was answered by Chloe, my husband' s childhood friend.
She dismissed my agony, urging me not to be "so dramatic" before hanging up, leaving me alone to dial 911 through blinding pain.
At the hospital, the doctor's words blurred: "Ectopic pregnancy. Ruptured. Internal bleeding. Immediate operation." The nurse couldn't reach Ethan, so I signed the consent form myself, a single tear tracing a path down my cheek. I was truly alone.