I went into labor alone, but fate had other plans.

I went into labor alone, but fate had other plans.

I went into labor alone, but fate had other plans.

The night my labor started should never have been unforgettable, but fate had its own agenda.
Earlier that evening, my husband and I had argued—one of those intense, painful arguments where silence hurts more than words. Hours later, as my contractions began, my hands trembled as I grabbed my phone. Panic and pain blurred as I called him repeatedly—thirty times in total. He didn’t answer.

It was my brother who drove me to the hospital. With each contraction, I bit my lip, trying to swallow my grief along with the pain.

Ten hours passed before my husband finally called back. My brother answered without hesitation and said just four words that echoed through the line:
“She didn’t make it.”

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