“She is bleeding out because you left her,” Thomas said into the phone, his voice a low, terrifying growl.

He did not wait for Ryan to answer.

He tossed the phone onto the rug and turned back to the paramedics who were now flooding into our bedroom.

The room became a blur of blue uniforms, plastic tubing, and the sharp smell of rubbing alcohol.

“Pressure on the fundus,” a female paramedic called out.

The cold winter air rushed in from the open front door as they lifted me onto the gurney.

My last sight of the house was Thomas holding Ethan against his chest, whispering to him while the blue lights flashed against the living room walls.

I lost consciousness in the ambulance.

When I opened my eyes again, the ceiling was made of white acoustic tiles, and the smell of bleach was overpowering.

A steady, rhythmic beep sounded near my left ear.

My arm felt heavy, taped down with an IV line pushing cold fluids into my vein.

“Emma,” a voice said from the bedside.

I turned my head slowly, the movement bringing a dull, throbbing ache behind my eyes.