Part 2
I don’t know how long I stayed on that floor.
Maybe five minutes.
Maybe an hour.
When you’re lying there, bleeding, the world stops moving the way it normally does.
The house that used to feel like my safe place suddenly felt like a prison.
A beautiful prison.
The expensive furniture Tyler insisted on buying.
The perfect nursery my mother-in-law decorated.
The framed family photos on the wall.
Everything looked normal.
Except I wasn’t.
My body was failing me.
My son was crying.
And the man who promised he would protect us was driving away.
I stared at the notification on my phone.
Tyler’s story was still there.
“On the way to Blue Ridge. Meat, whiskey, friends, and zero drama.”
Zero drama.
Those words burned into my mind.
Because apparently, his wife bleeding on the floor eight days after giving birth wasn’t a crisis.
It was drama.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to throw the phone against the wall.
But I couldn’t even lift my arm properly.
My fingers shook as I reached for the phone again.
This time, I didn’t call Tyler.
I called my mother.
One ring.
Two.
Three.
“Olivia?”
The sound of her voice almost broke me.
Because she sounded like my mother.
Not annoyed.
Not impatient.
Not like I was an inconvenience.
Just worried.
“Mom…”
My voice cracked.
There was silence.
A mother knows.
She knew something was wrong before I said another word.
“What happened?”
I tried to answer.
I tried to sound calm.
But the moment I opened my mouth, the tears came.
“Mom… I need help.”
Her voice immediately changed.
“Where are you?”
“At home.”
“Are you alone?”
I looked toward the hallway.
The front door was closed.
The sound of Tyler’s truck was long gone.
“Yes.”
A pause.
Then she asked:
“Where is Tyler?”
My eyes closed.
“He left.”
My mother went silent.
Not confused.
Not surprised.
Just silent.
“Left where?”
“Blue Ridge.”
“For what?”
I swallowed.
“His birthday trip.”
The silence afterward was different.
It wasn’t empty.
It was anger.
Pure anger.
“Olivia…”
Her voice lowered.
“How much are you bleeding?”
I looked down.
The carpet beneath me was covered.
My stomach turned.
“Too much.”
“Can you stand?”
I tried.
My body refused.
“No.”
“Okay. Don’t move.”
I heard her grab something on the other end.
“Mom…”
“Listen to me carefully.”
Her voice was firm.
“Call emergency services right now.”
“I don’t want to bother—”
“No.”
She cut me off.
“You are not bothering anyone.”
My eyes filled.
Because even then, even while I was terrified, some part of me still felt guilty.
Like needing help was something I had to apologize for.
“Call them, Olivia.”
I finally did.
My hands were shaking so badly I almost dropped the phone.
When the operator answered, I could barely speak.
“My name is Olivia…”
My breathing became uneven.
“I gave birth eight days ago.”
The operator stayed calm.
“How much bleeding are you experiencing?”
“I don’t know.”
I looked at the carpet.
“A lot.”
“Are you alone?”
I looked at Parker.
My tiny baby.
Crying.
Waiting for me.
“My newborn son is here.”
“Can you unlock the front door?”
I looked toward the entrance.
It felt impossibly far away.
“I don’t think I can.”
“Stay on the line with me.”
The operator’s voice became the only thing keeping me awake.
“Do not close your eyes.”
I tried.
I really tried.
But everything became blurry.
The last thing I remember was whispering:
“Please save my baby.”
The next thing I heard was noise.
People moving.
Footsteps.
A voice.
“Ma’am, can you hear me?”
I opened my eyes slightly.
A paramedic was kneeling beside me.
“Her blood pressure is dropping.”
Another voice:
“Get the baby secured.”
My heart raced.
“Parker…”
The paramedic looked at me.
“Your baby is okay.”
Those words were the only thing that mattered.
My eyes closed again.
And for the first time that day…
I stopped fighting.
When I woke up, I was in the hospital.
The ceiling was white.
The room was quiet.
My body felt heavy.
But I was alive.
The first thing I said was:
“Where’s Parker?”
My mother was sitting beside my bed.
She grabbed my hand.
“He’s fine.”
I exhaled.
A tear slipped down my cheek.
“He’s with the nurses right now.”
I nodded.
Then I asked the question I already knew the answer to.
“Where is Tyler?”
My mother didn’t answer.
That told me everything.
I stared at her.
“Mom.”
She looked away.
“He came back?”
“No.”
My chest tightened.
“He didn’t come back?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
A strange feeling filled me.
Not anger.
Not sadness.
Something worse.
Realization.
The man I married could leave.
The father of my child could ignore me.
And somehow, I was still surprised.
My mother pulled out her phone.
“I called him.”
I looked at the screen.
The messages were open.
Mom:
“Olivia is in the hospital. She lost a dangerous amount of blood.”
Tyler replied twenty-three minutes later.
“Is she okay?”
My heart stopped.
Not because he cared.
Because he didn’t.
The message continued.
Mom:
“She almost died.”
Tyler:
“Doctors exaggerate everything.”
I felt cold.
Mom:
“You need to come home.”
Tyler:
“I’m already here. I paid for this trip.”
I stared.
My fingers went numb.
Then I saw the final message.
Mom:
“Your wife needed you.”
Tyler:
“She always needs something.”
The room went silent.
I looked at my mother.
And for the first time, I felt embarrassed.
Not because of myself.
Because I had defended him.
I had made excuses for him.
I had told people:
“He’s stressed.”
“He’s learning.”
“He’s a good man.”
But a good man doesn’t watch his wife drown and complain about getting wet.
Three days later, Tyler finally came.
I knew it before he entered.
Because my mother stood up.
Because the air changed.
The door opened.
And there he was.
Fresh clothes.
Sunglasses.
A tan from his weekend away.
He looked rested.
Happy.
Like he had just returned from a vacation.
Not like a husband returning to the woman who almost died.
“Olivia.”
That was all he said.
No apology.
No fear.
No concern.
Just my name.
I stared at him.
“Hi, Tyler.”
He walked closer.
“So… how serious was it?”
I blinked.
That was his first question.
Not:
Are you okay?
Not:
I’m sorry.
“How serious was it?”
My mother stepped forward.
But I stopped her.
I wanted to hear him.
I needed to hear him.
“I almost died.”
His expression changed slightly.
Only slightly.
“I didn’t know it was that bad.”
I laughed softly.
A broken sound.
“You knew.”
He frowned.
“Olivia—”
“You saw the blood.”
Silence.
“You saw me on the floor.”
Silence.
“You heard me beg you.”
His jaw tightened.
“You’re making this bigger than it was.”
And there it was.
The sentence that finally destroyed everything.
Not the trip.
Not the birthday.
Not the suitcase.
That sentence.
“You’re making this bigger than it was.”
I looked at the man I married.
The man who held my hand when we found out we were having a baby.
The man who promised:
“Nothing will ever happen to you when I’m around.”
And I realized.
He meant nothing would happen to him.
Not me.
Not us.
“I want a divorce.”
His face changed.
For the first time, he looked scared.
“What?”
“I want a divorce.”
He laughed nervously.
“You’re serious?”
“Yes.”
“Because I went away for one weekend?”
I looked him directly in the eyes.
“No.”
My voice was calm.
Stronger than I expected.
“Because you left me dying on the floor.”
May you like
And for once…
Tyler had nothing to say.
