By the time I was mid-labor, I was delirious with pain and exhaustion. I could barely keep my eyes open between contractions. Sweat plastered my hair to my forehead, and everything below my waist felt like it was being torn apart.
“You’re doing great, sweetheart,” my mom said, wiping my brow with a cool cloth. “Just a few more hours.”
“Yes, you can. You’re stronger than you know. Remember how we talked about taking it one contraction at a time? Just focus on getting through this one.”
That’s when Regina made her move.
She walked in, perfectly coiffed in a tailored dress like she was heading to a board meeting instead of a delivery room. Her eyes flicked dismissively to my mother, who was dampening a washcloth by the sink.
“Why are YOU here?” she sneered.
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