I went into labor, but my mother coldly said, “The hospital? Dinner comes first!” Then my sister laughed and set our car on fire. “Another useless human? What’s the point?
The contractions started while I was chopping carrots in the kitchen. At first, I ignored them. Late pregnancy had already taught me how to live with discomfort. But the second one hit harder, sharp enough to make me grab the counter.
“Mom,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, “something’s wrong.”
