Alyssa

Everything hurts.

Not just my stomach—though that's the worst of it. A twisting, white-hot cramp low in my pelvis that comes in waves like contractions.

But my chest hurts too.

Like it's collapsing in on itself.

Like it's already too late.

I hear voices. Too many. All blurred. Too loud and too far at the same time.

I think I'm on a stretcher. Lights streak overhead, bright and sterile and wrong.

I try to curl up, to hold my babies ...