“If you are bl/ee/ding out, then just put on a towel and stop ruining my birthday,” were the last words Tyler said to me before he finally clicked his suitcase shut.

I was sitting on the floor of the nursery, one hand gripping the white railing of the crib and the other resting on my stomach which was still swollen and tender from the delivery.

Our son Parker had been born only eight days earlier, and those eight days had been a blur of sleepless nights, sharp physical pain, and the constant fear that came with being a new mother.

But that afternoon, the exhaustion I felt was different because it was accompanied by a terrifying amount of blood that I could not control.

The expensive cream-colored rug that my mother-in-law had chosen to make the room look elegant was already soaked with a dark red stain that was spreading beneath my legs.

I stared at the floor in total disbelief because I could not understand how something so life-threatening could be happening in such a quiet and beautiful house.

“Tyler, please listen to me because I really need to go to the emergency room right now,” I said while struggling to raise my voice above a whisper.

He stepped out of the walk-in closet wearing his new designer sunglasses and a crisp white shirt as if he were preparing for a professional photo shoot.

“Here we go again with the constant need for attention,” he muttered while checking his reflection in the mirror and adjusting his hair.

“My mother told me that every woman bleeds after they give birth, so you are clearly not the first person in the history of the world to have a child,” he added with a sneer.

“This is not normal at all because I can feel myself becoming lightheaded and dizzy,” I insisted as I tried to reach out for him.

Tyler did not even bother to come near me, choosing instead to stay in the doorway while he scrolled through his phone with an annoyed expression.

“Look, Olivia, I paid a massive amount of money for this weekend trip to the luxury cabins in the Blue Ridge Mountains,” he said without looking up.

“The private dinner is already scheduled and my friends are currently on their way, so I am not going to cancel everything just because you want to be the center of the universe today,” he continued.

The word “attention” felt like a physical blow to my chest that hurt even more than the sharp cramps radiating through my lower back.

Parker began to cry in his bassinet, letting out a small and desperate sound that made it seem like he understood the danger we were in.

I tried to turn my body so that I could reach him, but my arms felt like lead and the entire room began to tilt at a sickening angle.

“Please just call your mother or an ambulance or anyone who can help me,” I pleaded while tears started to blur my vision.

Tyler let out a cold and bitter laugh that echoed through the empty hallway of our house in Franklin.

“Do you really want me to call an ambulance so that everyone in the neighborhood thinks I am a monster for going out to celebrate my own birthday?” he asked.

“Just go make yourself some herbal tea and try to relax because my mother will be here tomorrow morning to check on you,” he said dismissively.

“I do not think I will make it until tomorrow morning,” I whispered into the silence of the room.

For a fleeting second, he actually looked down at the floor and saw the dark pool of blood that was ruined the rug.

His face shifted for a moment as if he were experiencing a flash of genuine fear, but he quickly clenched his jaw and regained his cold composure.

“You have always been prone to exaggeration, and ever since the pregnancy started, you have made a massive drama out of every tiny thing,” he said.

He walked right past me to exit the room, and I noticed that his polished leather shoe nearly stepped into the stain on the carpet.

I reached out with my last bit of strength and managed to grab the bottom of his trousers to keep him from leaving.

“Tyler, I am begging you to actually look at me and see what is happening,” I sobbed.

He ripped his leg away with a sudden and violent movement that left me slumped against the side of the crib.

“Do not try to manipulate me with this emotional blackmail because it is my thirtieth birthday and I deserve to have some peace for once,” he shouted.

As he walked toward the front door, I heard him yell back into the house one last time.

“I am putting my phone on airplane mode right now because I do not want to deal with any of your whining text messages while I am trying to enjoy myself,” he screamed.

The heavy front door slammed shut, and a moment later, I heard the powerful engine of his truck roaring to life in the driveway.

Outside the window, the world seemed perfectly normal as dogs barked in the distance and a neighbor began to water his flower beds.

Inside the nursery, my newborn son was screaming for me and I realized with horror that I could no longer move my legs.

I reached out toward the dresser where my phone was sitting, but my trembling fingers only managed to knock it onto the floor.

The screen lit up directly in front of my face, showing me a notification that I never wanted to see.

Tyler Benson had just posted a new story on his social media account with the caption: Heading to the mountains for steak, whiskey, and zero drama.

The photo showed his hand gripping the steering wheel of his truck with his expensive new watch catching the sunlight.

I lay there on the floor next to my son’s crib, feeling the life draining out of me while the man I loved drove toward a party.

I had no idea that the most difficult part of this nightmare was actually still to come.

I cannot be certain if minutes or hours passed while I lay there in the growing darkness of the nursery.

The sound of Parker’s crying became a permanent part of the atmosphere, acting like a thin thread that kept me tethered to the world of the living.

Every time the baby fell silent for a few seconds, a wave of pure terror would wash over me because I was afraid he had stopped breathing.

I was terrified of dying, but I was even more afraid of leaving my son alone in this house to cry until he had no strength left.

The blood surrounding me no longer felt warm, and instead, it felt like a cold and heavy weight that was pulling me down into the floor.

I desperately wanted to pray for help, but I found that I could not remember the words to any of the prayers I had learned as a child.

The house that Tyler had insisted on buying to impress his business partners now felt like a cold and hollow tomb made of marble and glass.