Eight months pregnant with twins, and I'd just been diagnosed with gestational diabetes.
When diet and exercise alone couldn't keep my blood sugar under control, my doctor prescribed insulin and made it absolutely clear: I had to inject on time, every time, no exceptions.
But Lindsay Swanson snatched up my insulin and hid it behind her back, pulling me to my feet.
"Insulin's bad for the babies. Exercise can bring your blood sugar down just the same."
Clumsy and off-balance as I was, all I could do was wrap both arms around my belly and let Lindsay lead me onto the treadmill.
Then she cranked the speed up and smacked me across the backside with a wire hanger.
"Move faster! Are you a pig? Why are you so slow?"
"Look at all that fat. No wonder you've got diabetes."
My stomach seized in sharp, cramping waves. I begged her three times to let me get off. She didn't even blink.
I had no choice but to call out to my husband, who was working in his study.
When Dale Sanchez saw the state I was in, all he said was:
"Lindsay is a resident at Capital General. She's a top student at one of the best medical schools in the world."
"She's your sister. She wouldn't hurt you."
Then he turned and walked away.
The light in my eyes went out.
If you don't love me, and you don't love these children, then let your bloodline end here.
——
Watching Dale's retreating back, I knew this man would never be someone I could count on.
The moment he was gone, Lindsay jabbed the speed button over and over, slamming it higher.
"Did you hear that? Dale told you to listen to me. Speed up!"
I was forced to match the treadmill's accelerating pace, but my belly was enormous with twins. Within seconds, the pain in my abdomen sharpened, and a tightening pressure clamped down like a vise.
My reflexes kicked in. I ripped the emergency safety clip off the machine.
Momentum threw me hard to the ground. I locked both arms around my stomach as my elbows and thighs slammed against the floor. The pain was blinding.
The crash brought Dale back. He took one look at me sitting on the floor, and his face twisted with irritation.
"All this noise from walking on a treadmill?"
"Why are you sitting on the floor? Get up."
A flash of panic crossed Lindsay's eyes, but she composed herself in an instant.
"She called me a quack and pulled the emergency clip off herself."
Dale stared down at me. He made no move to help me up.
"Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? You're pregnant. What if you'd hurt the babies?"
"Why can't you just listen to Lindsay?"
Even knowing Dale didn't love me, his words still cut to the bone.
"Why are you blaming me? I'm the victim here. Why aren't you saying a single word to her?"
"Anyone with eyes can see that I'm in no condition to exercise at this stage. Lindsay forced me onto that treadmill. How is that not putting me and the babies in danger?"
"Dale Sanchez, are you blind?"
Dale let out a cold, derisive laugh.
"My mother is diabetic too. She exercises every single day to manage her blood sugar. You're the one who's ignorant."
"Lindsay is a top student at one of the finest medical schools in the country. You graduated from some no-name college. What gives you the right to question her?"
Lindsay's eyes reddened on cue.
"Dale, it's all my fault. I pushed her too hard, and she got hurt. She almost hurt the babies because of me. Don't blame her. Blame me instead."
Dale gently patted Lindsay's shoulder.
"This is not your fault. Ignorant people never realize their own mistakes."
"Lindsay, don't do this to yourself. It breaks my heart."
Without my insulin, my head was spinning, my mouth was parched, and I could barely stand. I forced myself back to the bedroom and tore through every inch of the room searching for it. Every drawer, every shelf, every corner. Nothing.
My whole body was shaking as I pointed at Lindsay.
"Lindsay Swanson, did you hide my insulin?"
