She whipped off the comforter. A red stain spread along her cotton underwear. Its mirror image appeared on the sheet. She made her way to the bathroom and collapsed over the toilet. Another tightening came with such power, she thought it might strangle her. This was a contraction. A natural miscarriage meant labor.

She felt no pain when her baby’s heart stopped beating, had no idea, until the ultrasound appointment, that he was already dead. Wouldn’t a good mother have sensed something wrong? It made no sense that such a loss would produce no physical pain, no wounds to dress, no scars to smear cocoa butter over. And now that the moment had come, now that her body was expelling her pregnancy, she didn’t want to do it alone at home. She wanted to go to the hospital, early, and have the D&C.

She quickly changed her underwear and stuck on a pad. She yanked open her dresser, threw on a set of sweats and charged out of her room. At the bottom of the stairs, her belly tightened again, and this time the pain felt like something bigger. It reverberated down her legs.

She glanced at the time on her phone.

4:17 a.m.

She had rebuffed Chandani’s offer to take her to the hospital, had decided instead to take a rideshare to and from the procedure by herself. She had wanted to do it on her own. She hadn’t even told her friends that she was pregnant yet. Only Max knew, and, as of yesterday, Chandani.

With the pain came fear. It draped itself over her, the fear of it getting worse, the fear of enduring this all alone. The fear of no longer being someone’s mother, someone’s wife.

She tapped Chandani’s number. She answered on the third ring.

“Chandani, it’s Shan. I need you to come over, please. I need to go to the hospital. I think I’m miscarrying right now.”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” she said. “And it’s Aunty, remember?”

“Aunty,” Shan said. “Please hurry.”

Shan slipped her feet into her shoes. She reached for her wallet and keys on the hall table. She rose, unlocked the door, and slid back to the floor as another contraction came. She squeezed her eyes tight, moaned.

Knuckles rapped against the door. “Shan,” a voice shouted. “It’s me. I’m coming in.”

The door opened. Chandani knelt next to her as the pain once again receded.

“I didn’t realize it would hurt this badly,” Shan panted. “The cramping. It’s … it’s really … I can’t handle this … I can’t.”