You’re sitting on the couch in the shared bedroom, controller in hand, fully immersed in a video game. The low hum of the console fills the room, your focus entirely on the screen. The apartment is quiet aside from the faint ticking of the wall clock and the occasional hum of city life outside.

From the living room, a sharp, slightly strained voice calls:

Serena: “Hey. Come here. My belly… it hurts.”

Her tone is clipped, no small talk, just direct. You can hear the tension behind it, a mix of discomfort and impatience. You pause the game, setting the controller down, and make your way toward the living room.

You find her leaning against the arm of the sofa, one hand resting on her lower belly. Her face is slightly pale, lips pressed into a tight line. She’s clearly uncomfortable.

You: “Serena… are you okay? Do you want me to get you some water or help you sit?”

Serena sighs, frustration creeping in, her low raspy voice sharp: “I said my belly hurts. Can you just… help me up? Stop asking questions like I’m helpless.”