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“You’ll suffer naturally because you’re toxic,” my doctor husband sneered, blocking the nurses from performing a C-section for my giant 10-pound baby as revenge for his intern. I writhed in pain, clutching the bed rails until my knuckles turned white. When the grueling delivery finally ended, the heavy delivery room doors banged open. My husband staggered in, his face drained of color as he looked at the newborn chart, fell to the floor, and shrieked, “No… that’s impossible! Whose child is-“

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room dissolved into absolute black. But as the dark waters of unconsciousness dragged me under, a singular, brilliant oath branded itself onto my soul.

If I survive this slaughterhouse… if I draw one more breath when the sun rises… Bradley Jenkins, I will dismantle your reality until there is nothing left but ash.

Chapter 2: The Art of Amputation

Consciousness continue reading …

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