I woke up hours later in a bright, sterile hospital room. The steady beep of a heart monitor was the first thing I registered, followed by the sight of my older sister, Sarah, sitting in the corner with a face pale as paper.
The doctor came in shortly after I woke up and explained that I had suffered a severe secondary postpartum hemorrhage due to retained placental tissue.

I had lost a dangerous amount of blood and required an emergency D&C and a blood transfusion. The doctor looked at me with a mix of pity and professional concern, asking where my husband was.

“He went to the mountains,” I whispered, the reality of his abandonment washing over me. “He turned his phone off.”
Sarah was furious. She tried calling Jason’s phone dozens of times, but it went straight to voicemail just as he promised. He was unreachable. For the next three days, I stayed in the hospital on a heavy course of antibiotics and iron supplements. Noah was brought to me, perfectly healthy and safe, thanks to the paramedics who had taken him straight to the pediatric wing when they found us.

On the second day, I desperately needed some basic comforts—clean nursing bras, comfortable underwear, my own shampoo, and my laptop. I gave Sarah my house keys and asked her to pack a bag for me.
“Don’t worry about the nursery floor,” I told her, feeling a bizarre sense of shame about the bloodstain. “Just grab my things from our bedroom.”

An hour later, my phone rang. It was Sarah, but she didn’t sound like herself. Her voice was trembling, tight with a rage I had never heard from her before.
“Are you sitting up?” she asked.

“I’m in a hospital bed, Sarah. What’s wrong? Did you find my stuff?”
“I was looking for your big duffel bag,” she said slowly. “I went into Jason’s closet to see if it was pushed to the back.

There was a loose floorboard. I only noticed it because I dropped my phone and the wood shifted when I bent down to get it.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. “What are you talking about?”