The steady beep of the heart meter was enough to keep me at her bed side. Her slow breathing was enough for me to sleep at her bedside.  The 50/50 chance was enough to make me want to be in her place. She needed to live. How could she not understand that? I felt like slapping her and screaming: "WAKE UP!"

But I couldn't. She might not ever wake up. Jasper stayed at my side for three days as I watched my mother's peaceful face. At one point, her eyes had flicked open, but they closed immediately, and nothing had happened since then.

My mother had just found that she was pregnant when she ate 35 pills. Her body had now lapsed into a semi-coma. The doctors were still running like mad to test and treat her, but the baby was already dead.

My sister had arrived 12 hours after she heard the news; she lived in Vancouver, and she caught the first flight to Ottawa. She had been planning on coming for the baby shower, anyway, so she canceled her later flight.

My sister had grown a bit heavier since the last time I had seen her, and she told me that she was pregnant again. She already had 2 kids, and she had been happily married for 4 years.

"Oh, Hannah, your babies are going to be beautiful," she cried, after sizing Jasper up.

"Babies? There's a plural?"

"Well, you can't stop at just one, trust me. I'm 25 and a mother of 3!" she rubbed her tummy affectionately.

"Thanks, Rachel, but can we please just focus on the issue at hand?"

Rachel was bubbly and happy, and she never let anything hurt her cheerful ora. She told me that she was very happy to be plus-sized, because she didn't have to worry about over-eating. I asked her how that made sense, and she told me that after I was a mother, I wouldn't care anymore.

That worried me. I did NOT want to be fat.

***

Rachel's POV

When I got the call, I didn't know what to think. I hadn't been in contact with our mother in years. I mean, why would I? She was an abusive prostitute.

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