My twin sister and I were both eight months pregnant. At her baby shower, my own mother demanded the eighteen thousand dollars I’d saved for my baby. When I refused, she called me selfish and punched me hard in the stomach.

My water broke, I fainted from the pain, and I fell backward into the pool. My father said, “Leave her there, so she learns.” And my sister laughed.

Part 1

The punch landed before anyone realized my mother had raised her fist. One second I was protecting the eighteen thousand dollars meant for my unborn daughter; the next I was falling backward into the pool while my father told everyone to leave me there.

My twin sister, Beth, stood beneath a massive balloon arch in a white maternity dress, one hand on her belly, the other covering a laugh.

“Maybe now she’ll finally learn to share,” Beth said, loud enough for the crowd to hear.

The cold water swallowed me whole as a sharp pain tore through my lower abdomen. My lungs filled with chlorine while the music kept playing, because nobody bothered to turn off the speakers.

“Don’t you dare ruin this baby shower,” my mother yelled from the deck, as though my blood turning the blue water pink were a minor inconvenience.

Then a man in a black catering uniform dove into the deep end. His name was Derek, the banquet manager at the Grandview Manor estate. He dragged my limp body toward the concrete steps while another worker called emergency services.

My water had broken, my vision was narrowing, and my baby had stopped moving inside me.

My father looked down at my shivering body with disgust. “You should’ve just handed the cash to your mother,” he said.

I stared up at him through soaked, tangled hair, and I whispered with perfect clarity, “You chose this.”

At St. Timothy Medical Center in Rapid City, doctors performed an emergency cesarean. My daughter, Kayla, came out silent and pale blue — then, after twenty terrifying seconds, her tiny lungs opened and she cried.