𝗦𝗔𝗬 𝗬𝗘𝗦 𝗜𝗙 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘 Days of Our Lives #DOOL

At my baby shower, I announced my son’s name. Two weeks later, my sister-in-law had me arrested, claiming I was obsessed with her child. My husband “”confessed,”” and they were taking my baby at birth. But in the hospital, I started hemorrhaging. An officer blocked the door to the OR, insisting I was faking it. He didn’t know the head nurse had just hit “”record”” on her phone.
“Your husband’s already confessed,” an officer named Mills said, his voice dripping with contempt. He claimed I was obsessed with my sister-in-law’s child, and that my husband admitted the entire scheme was my idea. Beside him, a cold-eyed social worker announced, “The baby will be removed at birth. You’ll never see it.”
Just then, a sharp, stabbing pain seized my stomach, so intense it stole my breath. It felt like I was being torn in two. “Something’s wrong,” I gasped. “I… I think I’m bleeding.”
“Convenient timing,” Mills scoffed, not even glancing my way. “Stop faking it.”
The pain intensified, a relentless, white-hot agony. I felt a sudden, warm gush between my legs. “Please, help me,” I cried out, my voice raw with panic.
“You’re not bleeding,” Mills said, his voice laced with boredom. “Sit still or we’ll add resisting arrest to the charges.”
Ignoring him, a nurse pulled back my blanket. She gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “She’s hemorrhaging! Get Dr. Blake in here now!”
Shouts filled the room. “She’s having a placental abruption! This is life-threatening!”
Dr. Blake ran in, took one look at the blood pooling on the bed, and his face went white. “Good God, how long has she been bleeding?”
“Prep an OR, now!” the doctor roared. “We could lose them both!”
But as the nurses tried to wheel my bed out, Officer Mills physically blocked the door. “She’s in custody. She stays here.”
Dr. Blake’s face contorted with a rage I’d never seen. “Then you might as well sign their death certificates right now,” he snapped. “This is a medical emergency, not a negotiation.”
“Let me call my supervisor,” Mills said slowly, pulling out his phone as I writhed in agony and my vision started to tunnel. “Protocol is protocol.”
His call went to voicemail. He began leaving a long, detailed message, his voice a drone against the symphony of my screams and the frantic beeps of the failing monitors.
He was so focused on his power play, so consumed with following “protocol” as my life and my son’s life slipped away, that he didn’t notice the head nurse. He didn’t see her quietly lift her phone, aiming it in his direction.
And he certainly didn’t know she had just hit “record.” Watch: [in comment] – Made with AI