Chapter 3: The Birthday Trip That Destroyed Everything
Tyler spent the weekend exactly as he had planned.
His social media filled with smiling photos. Grilled steaks. Whiskey by the fire. Late-night poker games. A sunrise hike overlooking the Blue Ridge Mountains.
Every caption mocked the life he had left behind.
"Finally some peace."
"Thirty never looked so good."
"No diapers this weekend."
His friends laughed in the comments.
None of them knew that while Tyler toasted another glass of bourbon, his wife had nearly died in an operating room.
On Sunday afternoon, he finally switched his phone back on.
The notifications flooded in.
Thirty-two missed calls.
Twelve voicemails.
Messages from my mother.
Messages from the hospital.
Messages from neighbors.
One text from an unknown number froze him.
Your wife suffered a life-threatening postpartum hemorrhage. Please contact Franklin Regional Medical Center immediately.
For the first time all weekend, Tyler's smile disappeared.
He drove home at nearly ninety miles an hour.
The house was silent.
Inside the nursery, the dried blood still stained the cream-colored carpet.
The towels Mrs. Henderson had used lay in a corner.
Parker's bassinet was empty.
The silence terrified him.
He stood in the middle of the room, staring at the dark stain spreading across the carpet.
Only then did he realize exactly where he had left me.
His knees buckled.
But guilt had arrived two days too late.
When he reached the hospital, security stopped him before he could enter my room.
"I'm her husband."
The officer looked down at his clipboard.
"Mrs. Carter has instructed the hospital that you are not permitted to visit."
Tyler blinked.
"There has to be some mistake."
"There isn't."
He waited six hours in the lobby.
I never came out.
Neither did Parker.
He went home alone.
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For the first time since our wedding, he slept in an empty house.
And every room reminded him what he had abandoned.
