“Stop pretending,” my mother snapped while I struggled to breathe over the kitchen sink.
My uncle accused me of inventing another excuse to avoid washing the dishes.
But the instant the paramedic checked my pulse, her expression changed.
Then she shouted for a stretcher, and the entire house erupted into chaos.
“Stop pretending,” Mom said again.
Her words cut across the kitchen.
I was bent over the sink, gripping the counter with one hand and pressing the other against my chest.
Dirty plates remained piled in front of me beneath streaks of gravy and mashed potatoes.
The edges of my vision began darkening.
The room narrowed until all I could see were yellow light, wooden cabinets, and my mother’s irritated face.
“Mom,” I wheezed. “I cannot breathe.”
Uncle Ray leaned against the refrigerator with a beer in one hand.
He rolled his eyes.
“She is doing it again. Every time there is work to finish, she suddenly becomes dramatic.”
I tried to answer him.
Only a weak rasp escaped my throat.
My younger brother, Caleb, stood beside the table without moving.
“Mom, her lips look blue.”
“They do not.”
Mom did not even look closely at me.
“Emma, stand up straight. You are 18 years old, not eight.”
Then my knees gave way.
The glass I had been washing slipped from my hand and shattered inside the sink.
The sound finally brought my stepfather, Daniel, in from the living room.
His face changed the instant he saw me collapsed on the floor.
“Call 911.”
Mom turned toward him.
“Daniel, do not encourage this.”
“Call them,” he repeated, louder.
Caleb grabbed the phone before anyone else moved.
I heard his trembling voice give our address in Cedar Rapids, Iowa.
Sweat ran down my temples.
My chest felt as though a belt had been wrapped around my ribs and tightened until something inside me began tearing apart.
Mom crouched nearby.
She still did not touch me.
“Emma, this is enough. You are frightening your brother.”
I wanted to tell her I was frightened too.
My body would not allow me to speak.
The paramedics arrived in less than seven minutes.
A woman with dark hair tucked beneath a navy cap knelt beside me.
“Emma, can you hear me?”
I blinked once.
She placed two fingers against my neck.
Her calm expression vanished.
“Bring the stretcher now!”
The second paramedic rushed back through the doorway.
The kitchen exploded into panic.
“What?” Mom asked.
Her voice had suddenly become small.
“What is wrong with her?”
The paramedic ignored the question and attached a monitor to my finger.
“Pulse is weak. Oxygen is dropping. We need to move immediately.”
Uncle Ray put down his beer so abruptly that it spilled across the table.
Mom finally reached toward me.
The paramedic stepped between us.
“Ma’am, move back.”
They lifted me onto the stretcher.
Caleb stood beside the door, crying silently.
Daniel looked pale, furious, and helpless.
Mom continued calling my name.
By then, I could no longer answer her.
