EMERGENCY IF DIANE INTERFERES
My stomach turned.
“Sarah,” I said quietly, leaning close so only she could hear, “what envelope?”
Her lips trembled. For a moment, I thought she wouldn’t answer.
Then she whispered, barely audible over the siren:
The paramedic froze mid-motion, his gloved hand hovering just above Sarah’s abdomen.
“What envelope?” he asked, sharper now.
But Sarah had already squeezed her eyes shut again, her face contorting as another wave of pain ripped through her. Her fingers clutched my sleeve like she was trying to anchor herself to something real.
“Sir, we need to move,” the second paramedic said, urgency rising. “We can talk on the way.”
I nodded, but my mind wasn’t in the room anymore.
It was on my phone.
Still vibrating.
My mother’s name flashing again and again.
Diane Carter.
I declined the call.
Hard
My stomach turned.
“Sarah,” I said quietly, leaning close so only she could hear, “what envelope?”
Her lips trembled. For a moment, I thought she wouldn’t answer.
Then she whispered, barely audible over the siren:
“Test results.”
My chest tightened.
“What kind of test results?”
Her eyes opened just enough to meet mine.
“The baby’s.”
