The room felt colder than it had moments before, a chill that settled deep into my bones as the enormity of the situation took hold. I was on the floor, pain radiating through my body, my pregnancy suddenly and terrifyingly compromised. My mind raced. I needed to act, to protect the life inside me.
“Call an ambulance,” I croaked, my voice barely audible. But my plea was met with disdainful silence. Chloe continued to film, her phone poised as if documenting a quaint family gathering instead of a desperate, life-threatening moment.
I locked eyes with Tom once more, hoping for a glimmer of humanity. His gaze was conflicted, yet he remained immobile, paralyzed by the weight of his familial allegiance. “Elena,” he finally muttered, sounding distant, detached. “We just can’t. Margaret needs—”
