Honk. Honk.
A loud honk came from the car I was lying in the back seat of. As I looked down at my clothes, I realized I was covered in blood. I tried to move my body, but my head felt too heavy for my neck.
"Before you kill me, just know everyone will know you did it, and you will spend the rest of your life behind bars," I said loudly, hoping my husband heard every word.
"Kill you?" a voice replied. "I thought you were already dead."
I jumped, realizing it wasn't my husband's voice or his car.
I looked up and saw Gregory, my father-in-law, behind the wheel.
"Please don't take me back. Please," I tried to explain everything.
"Shhh. Sit back and relax," he said calmly. "I'm taking you to get help."
His voice was gentle. His face was red, sad, and filled with tears.
As we pulled into an emergency parking lot, Gregory rushed inside. Within minutes, a nurse came out pushing a wheelchair. As the nurses pushed me inside, they immediately began working on me, transferring me to a stretcher and into a room. More nurses came rushing in from every direction.
A doctor entered the room not long after. His face told me everything before his mouth even opened.
"Hello, Karma. I'm Dr. Niegel," he said, his eyes drifting over my face and body. I could feel his suspicion even before he spoke again.
"I need to know who did this to you. It's clear someone did this to you."
I was too scared to say a word. Robert had so much power. I never knew who he knew.
He turned to the nurse. "Let's find out where all this blood is coming from."
"Karma, I need you to answer a couple of questions for me, please. Are you pregnant? If so, how long? And can you explain what happened to you?"
"Yes," I responded. "I'm six months pregnant, and I don't remember what happened to me."
"How old are you?" he asked.
"I'm seventeen," I said.
Everyone looked at each other.
"Okay," he continued. "We're going to give you some medication. Due to multiple fractures and broken bones, you may get drowsy or even fall asleep for a while."
I felt my eyes closing.
"Excuse me, sir," a nurse asked Gregory, standing with two police officers. "How do you know this young lady you dropped off?"
"She's my daughter-in-law," Gregory replied.
"Do you know what happened to her?" one officer asked.
"No," he said. "When I arrived at their home, she was lying in a pool of her own blood, unconscious. I put her in the back of my car and brought her straight here."
"We'll need to file a police report, and she will be admitted," the officer said.
Gregory nervously nodded.
His phone began vibrating in his pocket. When he pulled it out, he saw his stepson, Robert, calling back to back.
Knock. Knock.
"Good morning."
As I opened my eyes, Dr. Niegel walked in. "Hey, Karma. How are you feeling today?"
Scared to speak, I didn't say a word. I just shrugged my shoulders.
"Well," he said gently, "I have some bad news. You have two fractures and three broken bones. Your healing process is going to be horrendous."
Then he touched my shoulder.
"I'm sorry," he continued. "We're unable to find your baby's heartbeat. Your child has passed. We need to induce labor immediately to prevent infection. Waiting could be life-threatening for you. You will be giving birth to a stillborn. How do you feel hearing this information?"
I heard the words, but they didn't land.
Everything around me sounded far away, like I was underwater. I couldn't tell if I was breathing.
This isn't real. This can't be real.
I was about to give birth to my child, but she was dead. I was confused.
"After this process, we'll have a social worker come in and speak with you," the doctor said as he pushed medication into my IV bag. "This will start contractions."
"We'll be delivering shortly."
Then he walked out.
Hours passed that felt like minutes. Nurses came in and out with Dr. Niegel.
My body began to contract, pain ripping through me in waves. Each push felt heavier than the last, like my heart was being torn open from the inside. I could hear a nurse counting, "One, two, three, push," but her voice sounded like it belonged to another world.
After forty-six minutes, one final push left my body shaking.
My baby was delivered.
The room went silent. No cries. No movement. Just the soft rustle of fabric as she was wrapped in a blanket and placed to the side.
A nurse approached me, her eyes full of sorrow.
"I'm so sorry," she said. "Would you like to hold her?"
My baby.
The word echoed in my head.
My daughter.
"My baby," I whispered.
When they placed her in my arms, she felt so light. Too light. I studied her tiny fingers, her closed eyes, her peaceful face. She looked like she was sleeping. I touched her cheek and broke down, my tears soaking into the blanket as my chest tightened so badly I thought I might stop breathing.
I didn't understand how my world had collapsed so fast.
As the room emptied to give me time alone, two strangers walked in. A police officer and a woman holding a clipboard.
She introduced herself as Rebecca, a caseworker from Child Protective Services. She offered her condolences, assured me I wasn't in trouble, and asked if she could ask me a few questions.
My body started shaking before my mouth could answer.
She pointed out the bruises on my face and body and asked who did this to me. She promised they would keep me safe and that whoever hurt me would not be allowed to contact me again.
I couldn't speak.
She leaned closer, her voice soft. "Karma, you're only seventeen. We have to step in, and we're here to help you."
Tears slid down my face as she placed her hand over mine.
"Can you promise me," I asked quietly, "that I'll be able to get my children back?"
Before she could answer, the door burst open.
"Oh, my baby!"
Shit. It was Ginny, my mother-in-law, rushing in, her face twisted with fake concern and irritation. She leaned over me, asking why I kept doing this to myself. Then she turned to the officer and caseworker, suddenly calm and composed.
"Hello, I'm her mother," she said.
Something inside me shut off the moment those words left her mouth.
"May I speak with you both in private?" Ginny asked, pulling them into the hallway.
Later, I heard what she told them while listening to two nurses talk, thinking I was asleep. She told them I was mentally ill. That I hurt myself for attention. That this was why my children were already in her care.
The anger in me, if I could have bitten her face off, I damn sure would have.
I stayed in the hospital for ten days after that.
Slowly, my body came back to life. I could eat again. Shower. Walk. Think a bit more clearly.
"Good morning," a nurse said with a smile. "It's been ten days. What do you think about being discharged today?"
I enjoyed the sleep, the food, and the safety of being there, but I was ready to see my babies and run away.
"Yes, ma'am," I replied.
"Great. Your family is already outside waiting."
I felt my heart drop to my ass.
"Let me help you get dressed and roll you to the car."
As we got on the elevator, I didn't know what words to say to Robert. All I could think of were apologies and begging.
When she opened the car door for me, there sat Gregory, my father-in-law.
As the nurse said her goodbyes and shut the door, I spoke.
"Hello. Thanks for picking me up."
He didn't say a word.
I knew he was upset that the family found out he was the one who took me to the hospital. I sat quietly, panicking.
The silence was heavy until a small voice broke it.
"Mommy!"
"Mommy, hi!"
I turned around fast enough to see my boys in the far back seat, their eyes wide with excitement. My heart shattered and healed all at once. I wanted to reach for them, hold them, cry. But fear kept me still.
The drive ended too quickly.
"This is it," Gregory said.
"What's this? Why aren't we home?" I asked.
"Karma, this is where you need to be," he said. "There's a bag in the trunk. Your ID, all of your birth certificates, enough money, and I bought tickets. We're at the train station. You're free."
I stared at him in disbelief.
"Wait. I can leave? Just me and my kids?"
"Yes," he said. "I won't let your blood be on my hands. Just promise me you'll never contact us again."
I nodded, crying, hugged him, and thanked him.
As we stepped out of the car with my children and everything he promised, Gregory stopped me one last time.
"Never tell anyone I helped you."
Then he added softly, "Happy eighteenth birthday."
I froze. I had no idea today was my birthday.
We hugged one last time.
Walking away felt unreal.
At the train station, the clerk asked, "Where are you traveling today, ma'am?"
I looked at the tickets, smiled, and said, "I'm heading home to San Diego, California."