{"id":37257,"date":"2026-04-03T17:26:49","date_gmt":"2026-04-03T17:26:49","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=37257"},"modified":"2026-04-03T17:26:49","modified_gmt":"2026-04-03T17:26:49","slug":"i-begged-my-drunk-husband-to-take-me-to-the-hospital-he-slapped-me-and-hours-later-doctors-said-my-baby-was-dying","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=37257","title":{"rendered":"I Begged My Drunk Husband to Take Me to the Hospital\u2014He Slapped Me, and Hours Later Doctors Said My Baby Was Dying"},"content":{"rendered":"

My name is Lauren Hayes<\/strong>, and the night I realized my husband might let me lose our baby, I was eight months pregnant and lying on the bathroom floor trying to decide whether I was dying or just finally losing my mind.<\/p>\n

It started around 8:40 p.m. in our townhouse outside Nashville, Tennessee<\/strong>. At first it was only dizziness, the kind that makes the room feel too bright and too far away at the same time. Then came the cramping\u2014low, tight, and relentless, wrapping around my stomach like a belt being pulled harder with every breath. I pressed both hands over my belly and tried everything the nurse had told me to do at my last appointment. Water. My left side. Slow breathing. Counting kicks.<\/p>\n

At first, my son answered.<\/p>\n

One shift. Then another.<\/p>\n

Then almost nothing.<\/p>\n

That was when the fear changed shape.<\/p>\n

My husband, Derek Hayes<\/strong>, had been ignoring me more and more over the last few months, but pregnancy trains you to explain away the things you should fear. He\u2019s stressed. He\u2019s tired. He didn\u2019t hear the phone. He didn\u2019t mean it like that. I called him five times in twenty minutes. Then I texted: Something is wrong. Please come home.<\/strong> Then: The baby isn\u2019t moving right.<\/strong> Then: I need the hospital now.<\/strong><\/p>\n

No answer.<\/p>\n

I thought about calling my sister, Alyssa<\/strong>, but she was on the night shift at the pediatric clinic, and Derek had spent years making me feel like every emergency had to be justified to him first. Hospitals were for \u201creal crises,\u201d he liked to say, not for \u201cpanic spirals.\u201d By midnight I was soaked in cold sweat, shaking, and sitting on the edge of the couch with one hand between my legs because I could not tell whether the wetness I felt was normal discharge, urine, or something much worse.<\/p>\n

At 12:27 a.m., the front door banged open.<\/p>\n

Derek stumbled in smelling like bourbon and somebody else\u2019s perfume.<\/p>\n

That was the first thing I noticed. Not the alcohol. Not the anger already simmering in his eyes. The perfume. Floral, expensive, not mine.<\/p>\n

\u201cI need to go to the ER,\u201d I said before he could speak. \u201cI\u2019m cramping, I\u2019m dizzy, and the baby barely moved for an hour.\u201d<\/p>\n

He tossed his keys on the counter and laughed\u2014a dry, ugly sound. \u201cLauren, you always think something\u2019s wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m serious.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd I\u2019m tired.\u201d<\/p>\n

I stood anyway, one hand braced on the wall. \u201cPlease. Just drive me.\u201d<\/p>\n

He stepped closer, irritated now, as if my pain were an accusation. \u201cYou need to calm down.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI can\u2019t,\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019m scared.\u201d<\/p>\n

That word changed his face.<\/p>\n

He hated fear unless it belonged to him.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re being dramatic,\u201d he snapped.<\/p>\n

Then I said the one thing I should have been able to say safely in my own home.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, I\u2019m not.\u201d<\/p>\n

His hand flashed so fast I barely saw it.<\/p>\n

The slap cracked across my cheek, and I fell sideways, hard, my hip and shoulder hitting first, then my stomach twisting with a pain so violent I couldn\u2019t breathe. A burst of warmth spread between my legs.<\/p>\n

Not normal warmth.<\/p>\n

Blood.<\/p>\n

I remember whispering, \u201cNo, no, no,\u201d while Derek stood over me, and I remember the pounding on the wall from next door as our neighbor shouted, \u201cEverything okay in there?\u201d<\/p>\n

It wasn\u2019t.<\/p>\n

Nothing was okay.<\/p>\n

And as paramedics rushed me under red-and-blue lights into the emergency entrance, one doctor leaned over me, looked at the monitor, and said words that split my life cleanly in two:<\/p>\n

\u201cHer placenta may be separating. We need the OR now.\u201d<\/p>\n

So why, while they raced me toward surgery, was my husband still in the waiting room insisting I had done this to myself?<\/p>\n

\n

Part 2<\/strong><\/p>\n

The operating room lights were so white they erased the edges of everything.<\/p>\n

I remember a nurse running beside my gurney, asking me questions in a voice trained to stay calm even when the answer could kill someone. Name. Allergies. Last meal. Pain level. I remember trying to answer while staring at the ceiling panels sliding above me like I was already being pulled out of my own body. I remember the doctor\u2014Dr. Melissa Grant<\/strong>\u2014leaning over me with eyes that did not waste time on false comfort.<\/p>\n

\u201cLauren, listen to me,\u201d she said. \u201cYour baby\u2019s heart rate is dropping. We believe you have a placental abruption. We need to do an emergency C-section right now.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIs he alive?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

She paused just long enough for me to understand the truth before she said it.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019re trying to keep him that way.\u201d<\/p>\n

I signed the consent form with a hand that barely worked.<\/p>\n

Someone asked if my husband was available to authorize anything if complications happened. A nurse at my shoulder said, in a flat voice that told me more than she intended, \u201cHe\u2019s downstairs arguing with security.\u201d<\/p>\n

Even then, even bleeding and terrified and strapped under warming blankets, part of me still felt ashamed. That is one of the ugliest things abuse does to you. It makes you feel embarrassment in moments that should belong entirely to survival.<\/p>\n

The next clear thing I remember is waking up in recovery with my throat raw, my abdomen on fire, and a machine beeping steadily beside me. I reached for my stomach and found it empty. Flat in the terrible, unfamiliar way that means the baby is no longer inside you, but not yet in your arms either.<\/p>\n

I panicked immediately. \u201cMy baby\u2014where\u2019s my baby?\u201d<\/p>\n

A nurse named Tanya<\/strong> pressed a hand to my shoulder. \u201cHe\u2019s in the NICU. He\u2019s alive.\u201d<\/p>\n

Alive.<\/p>\n

I started crying so hard the monitor alarmed.<\/p>\n

His name was Mason<\/strong>. He weighed four pounds, eleven ounces, and he was breathing through a CPAP mask in a clear plastic isolette by the time they let me see him the next morning. He was too small, too red, too still, but alive. I stood in a wheelchair because I could not yet walk and stared at the rise and fall of his chest as if I were learning religion.<\/p>\n

Then Tanya handed me a card from hospital security.<\/p>\n

My husband had been removed from the building at 3:14 a.m.<\/p>\n

At first I thought it had to be a mistake. Derek could be cruel, dismissive, and selfish, but the part of me that had spent years editing him into something survivable still wanted a softer version of the story. Maybe he was drunk and said the wrong thing. Maybe he panicked. Maybe\u2014<\/p>\n

Tanya interrupted my thinking with one sentence.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe told the desk you were unstable and making false accusations.\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked up at her.<\/p>\n

She kept her voice low. \u201cHe claimed your fall was from \u2018another episode.\u2019 He tried to get staff to note that you\u2019d been hysterical all night. Security stepped in when he became aggressive with the charge nurse.\u201d<\/p>\n

My mouth actually went dry.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnother episode?\u201d I repeated.<\/p>\n

Tanya hesitated, then glanced toward the NICU glass wall. \u201cMs. Hayes, do you have a safe place to go when you\u2019re discharged?\u201d<\/p>\n

That question rearranged something inside me.<\/p>\n

I said yes because Alyssa existed, because my mother was still alive, because there were options I had not allowed myself to imagine. But the truth was I didn\u2019t yet know what counted as safe. My husband had not just hit me. He had started writing a version of me in real time: unstable, dramatic, unreliable. It was a story built to outlive bruises.<\/p>\n

Later that afternoon, Alyssa came straight from work in wrinkled scrubs and fury. She listened in complete silence while I told her everything\u2014the ignored calls, the perfume, the slap, the blood, the security report. She didn\u2019t cry. She took photos of my cheek, my wrist, the surgical notes, and the bruising along my hip. Then she asked a question I should have asked myself months earlier.<\/p>\n

\u201cLauren,\u201d she said, \u201cwhy did he think he could say you had episodes?\u201d<\/p>\n

I stared at her.<\/p>\n

Because I knew the answer.<\/p>\n

Three weeks earlier, Derek had insisted on coming with me to a prenatal appointment I thought he had finally decided to care about. Instead, he spent most of it answering for me. Telling the OB I was \u201coverreactive lately.\u201d Mentioning I wasn\u2019t sleeping well. Laughing about \u201cpregnancy hormones.\u201d At the time, I thought he was minimizing me.<\/p>\n

Now I understood.<\/p>\n

He had been preparing a record.<\/p>\n

And when Alyssa went back to my house that evening to collect clothes and the baby\u2019s things, she found something that proved this had started long before the slap.<\/p>\n

Inside Derek\u2019s desk was a folder labeled with my name.<\/p>\n

And on top of it sat a typed note that began with six words I will never forget:<\/p>\n

If labor starts, do not panic.<\/strong><\/p>\n

\n

Part 3<\/strong><\/p>\n

Alyssa brought the folder to the hospital in a reusable grocery bag like it was groceries instead of evidence.<\/p>\n

I remember the sound it made when she dropped it on my tray table\u2014paper against cheap plastic, too light for what it carried. My son was still in the NICU. My body still felt split open. And now there was a manila file in front of me proving that what happened in our living room had not been one terrible night. It had been part of a plan.<\/p>\n

Inside were printed articles about \u201cmaternal mental instability,\u201d highlighted passages on emergency custody petitions, and a consultation receipt from a family law attorney dated six days before Mason was born. There were notes in Derek\u2019s handwriting too. Short lines. Bullet points. Cold, efficient, terrifying.<\/p>\n

Document emotional volatility.<\/strong>
Use missed sleep \/ anxiety.<\/strong>
If medical event happens, establish unreliability immediately.<\/strong>
Mother may be unfit post-delivery.<\/strong><\/p>\n

I stopped reading after that because my hands wouldn\u2019t stop shaking.<\/p>\n

Alyssa read the rest for me. She found copies of bank transfers to a hotel downtown, screenshots of messages with a woman named Kelsey<\/strong>, and one draft email Derek had apparently never sent to his lawyer:<\/p>\n

If she spirals after birth, I can petition fast. She has no idea how bad she looks when she panics.<\/strong><\/p>\n

That sentence burned through every excuse I had ever made for him.<\/p>\n

The hospital social worker, Janice Miller<\/strong>, came in an hour later. Tanya must have called her, and thank God she did. Janice listened, reviewed the folder, and did exactly what abusive men count on women not knowing to ask for: she documented everything. Photos. Security logs. Nurse statements. Surgical findings consistent with trauma after a fall. She arranged for my room to be marked private and for hospital staff to release no information to Derek. She also helped me file for an emergency protective order before I was even discharged.<\/p>\n

Derek texted the whole time.<\/p>\n

At first it was soft: Please call me. I was scared too.<\/strong> Then defensive: You twisted what happened.<\/strong> Then angry: You are not keeping my son from me.<\/strong> Then almost chillingly polished: Think carefully about what story you want on record.<\/strong><\/p>\n

I saved every message.<\/p>\n

Mason spent thirteen days in the NICU. I spent those thirteen days learning what my life looked like without editing reality to protect someone else. Alyssa stayed with me. My mother flew in from Missouri. Janice connected me with a domestic violence advocate who explained coercive control in words so accurate I felt sick. When I was strong enough to stand at Mason\u2019s incubator without support, I promised him out loud that he would never grow up learning love from a man like Derek.<\/p>\n

The court hearing for the emergency order happened three weeks later. Derek showed up in a navy suit with a lawyer and the exact expression of a man who thought he could still talk his way through a wreckage he caused. He tried the angle I had expected: concern for my postpartum condition, claims that I was exhausted and emotional, hints that I had \u201cfallen during an argument.\u201d But then Janice testified. Then Tanya. Then the neighbor who had heard my cry for help. Then Alyssa handed over the folder.<\/p>\n

The judge read Derek\u2019s own notes in silence.<\/p>\n

That silence lasted maybe fifteen seconds.<\/p>\n

It felt like justice breathing in.<\/p>\n

The judge granted the protective order, temporary sole custody to me, and supervised visitation only pending further review. Derek\u2019s lawyer asked for calm. The judge answered, \u201cYour client planned around a medical crisis involving an unborn child. I suggest he say very little.\u201d<\/p>\n

That was the first day I believed I might actually keep my son safe.<\/p>\n

I did not go back to the townhouse. Alyssa and I rented a duplex near her clinic in Franklin<\/strong> until I could figure out what came next. Mason came home on oxygen and left it behind six weeks later. He is one now. He laughs in his sleep, hates peas, and bangs books on the floor like he\u2019s making announcements to the universe.<\/p>\n

Derek still sends motions through attorneys. He still insists he never meant for things to go that far. Sometimes I wonder whether men like him hear themselves at all, or whether they only hear the version of events most useful to them. The criminal case is still open because the district attorney decided the slap, the fall, and the medical consequences deserved review beyond family court. So in that sense, the ending is not finished.<\/p>\n

Maybe it never really is.<\/p>\n

But I know this much: the night I thought my life was ending was actually the night the lie did.<\/p>\n

And once you hear a doctor say, \u201cIf we wait, you could lose him,\u201d everything after that gets measured differently. Marriage. Fear. Survival. Truth.<\/p>\n

I used to think the worst thing Derek did was hit me when I begged for help.<\/p>\n

It wasn\u2019t.<\/p>\n

The worst thing was deciding in advance how to use my pain against me.<\/p>\n

If this were your sister, what would you want her to do first\u2014run, report, or fight? Tell me below.<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

My name is Lauren Hayes, and the night I realized my husband might let me lose our baby, I was eight months pregnant and lying on the bathroom floor trying to decide whether I was dying or just finally losing my mind. It started around 8:40 p.m. in our townhouse outside Nashville, Tennessee. At first […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":37258,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"tdm_status":"","tdm_grid_status":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-37257","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","category-purpose"],"yoast_head":"\nI Begged My Drunk Husband to Take Me to the Hospital\u2014He Slapped Me, and Hours Later Doctors Said My Baby Was Dying - Purposeful Days<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=37257\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"I Begged My Drunk Husband to Take Me to the Hospital\u2014He Slapped Me, and Hours Later Doctors Said My Baby Was Dying - Purposeful Days\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"My name is Lauren Hayes, and the night I realized my husband might let me lose our baby, I was eight months pregnant and lying on the bathroom floor trying to decide whether I was dying or just finally losing my mind. It started around 8:40 p.m. in our townhouse outside Nashville, Tennessee. At first […]\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=37257\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"Purposeful Days\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2026-04-03T17:26:49+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/04\/Tao_mot_canh_202604040025.jpg\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"1000\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"1000\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/jpeg\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"purpose true\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:label1\" content=\"Written by\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data1\" content=\"purpose true\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:label2\" content=\"Est. reading time\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data2\" content=\"11 minutes\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\/\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=37257\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=37257\",\"name\":\"I Begged My Drunk Husband to Take Me to the Hospital\u2014He Slapped Me, and Hours Later Doctors Said My Baby Was Dying - Purposeful Days\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#website\"},\"primaryImageOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=37257#primaryimage\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=37257#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/04\/Tao_mot_canh_202604040025.jpg\",\"datePublished\":\"2026-04-03T17:26:49+00:00\",\"author\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#\/schema\/person\/8783f12fcf24b2f3203d550722d57e0a\"},\"breadcrumb\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=37257#breadcrumb\"},\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"ReadAction\",\"target\":[\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=37257\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=37257#primaryimage\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/04\/Tao_mot_canh_202604040025.jpg\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/04\/Tao_mot_canh_202604040025.jpg\",\"width\":1000,\"height\":1000},{\"@type\":\"BreadcrumbList\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=37257#breadcrumb\",\"itemListElement\":[{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":1,\"name\":\"Home\",\"item\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/\"},{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":2,\"name\":\"I Begged My Drunk Husband to Take Me to the Hospital\u2014He Slapped Me, and Hours Later Doctors Said My Baby Was Dying\"}]},{\"@type\":\"WebSite\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#website\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/\",\"name\":\"Purposeful Days\",\"description\":\"\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"SearchAction\",\"target\":{\"@type\":\"EntryPoint\",\"urlTemplate\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?s={search_term_string}\"},\"query-input\":{\"@type\":\"PropertyValueSpecification\",\"valueRequired\":true,\"valueName\":\"search_term_string\"}}],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"Person\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#\/schema\/person\/8783f12fcf24b2f3203d550722d57e0a\",\"name\":\"purpose true\",\"image\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#\/schema\/person\/image\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/311b99b03b9df64c75e9364ec478f537fdeab67bf8add124c69fac49517fcec6?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/311b99b03b9df64c75e9364ec478f537fdeab67bf8add124c69fac49517fcec6?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"caption\":\"purpose true\"},\"url\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?author=4\"}]}<\/script>\n<!-- \/ Yoast SEO plugin. -->","yoast_head_json":{"title":"I Begged My Drunk Husband to Take Me to the Hospital\u2014He Slapped Me, and Hours Later Doctors Said My Baby Was Dying - Purposeful Days","robots":{"index":"index","follow":"follow","max-snippet":"max-snippet:-1","max-image-preview":"max-image-preview:large","max-video-preview":"max-video-preview:-1"},"canonical":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=37257","og_locale":"en_US","og_type":"article","og_title":"I Begged My Drunk Husband to Take Me to the Hospital\u2014He Slapped Me, and Hours Later Doctors Said My Baby Was Dying - Purposeful Days","og_description":"My name is Lauren Hayes, and the night I realized my husband might let me lose our baby, I was eight months pregnant and lying on the bathroom floor trying to decide whether I was dying or just finally losing my mind. It started around 8:40 p.m. in our townhouse outside Nashville, Tennessee. At first […]","og_url":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=37257","og_site_name":"Purposeful Days","article_published_time":"2026-04-03T17:26:49+00:00","og_image":[{"width":1000,"height":1000,"url":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/04\/Tao_mot_canh_202604040025.jpg","type":"image\/jpeg"}],"author":"purpose true","twitter_card":"summary_large_image","twitter_misc":{"Written by":"purpose true","Est. reading time":"11 minutes"},"schema":{"@context":"https:\/\/schema.org","@graph":[{"@type":"WebPage","@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=37257","url":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=37257","name":"I Begged My Drunk Husband to Take Me to the Hospital\u2014He Slapped Me, and Hours Later Doctors Said My Baby Was Dying - Purposeful Days","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#website"},"primaryImageOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=37257#primaryimage"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=37257#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/04\/Tao_mot_canh_202604040025.jpg","datePublished":"2026-04-03T17:26:49+00:00","author":{"@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#\/schema\/person\/8783f12fcf24b2f3203d550722d57e0a"},"breadcrumb":{"@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=37257#breadcrumb"},"inLanguage":"en-US","potentialAction":[{"@type":"ReadAction","target":["https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=37257"]}]},{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=37257#primaryimage","url":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/04\/Tao_mot_canh_202604040025.jpg","contentUrl":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/04\/Tao_mot_canh_202604040025.jpg","width":1000,"height":1000},{"@type":"BreadcrumbList","@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=37257#breadcrumb","itemListElement":[{"@type":"ListItem","position":1,"name":"Home","item":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/"},{"@type":"ListItem","position":2,"name":"I Begged My Drunk Husband to Take Me to the Hospital\u2014He Slapped Me, and Hours Later Doctors Said My Baby Was Dying"}]},{"@type":"WebSite","@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#website","url":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/","name":"Purposeful Days","description":"","potentialAction":[{"@type":"SearchAction","target":{"@type":"EntryPoint","urlTemplate":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?s={search_term_string}"},"query-input":{"@type":"PropertyValueSpecification","valueRequired":true,"valueName":"search_term_string"}}],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"Person","@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#\/schema\/person\/8783f12fcf24b2f3203d550722d57e0a","name":"purpose true","image":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#\/schema\/person\/image\/","url":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/311b99b03b9df64c75e9364ec478f537fdeab67bf8add124c69fac49517fcec6?s=96&d=mm&r=g","contentUrl":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/311b99b03b9df64c75e9364ec478f537fdeab67bf8add124c69fac49517fcec6?s=96&d=mm&r=g","caption":"purpose true"},"url":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?author=4"}]}},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/37257","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=37257"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/37257\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":37259,"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/37257\/revisions\/37259"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/37258"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=37257"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=37257"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=37257"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}