I was dizzy with pain and choking back tears, clutching John's arm, "Please, my belly really hurts."
He shoved me away, "Can you stop pretending? It's just washing dishes. Why so many problems?"
Grace chimed in, "John, tell Tiana, it's crying makes her belly hurt. When I had kids, I never had this issue. This is too strange."
John's face darkened, "She's faking it. Doesn't want to work or do chores. Don't pay attention to her. Let's see if she can actually hurt herself."
He dragged me to the bedroom and locked the door. I lay on the bed in pain, unable to get out. We lived on the 26th floor, and I could only pray that nothing would happen to my baby.
The next morning, John, Grace, and Lily were outside getting ready. I knocked on the door again, and Grace loudly said, "Ignore her. Let her think about her behavior."
After they left, I called a locksmith and an ambulance.
At the hospital, the doctor was stern. I had signs of a threatened miscarriage and needed immediate hospitalization.
Sweating with fear, I called John, but he yelled at me, saying I was being dramatic and wasting money.