“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(simo) 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.