Nathan
I am flying through traffic with my heart racing. I don’t know how I am going to face my wife, I am freaking out. I meet Isaac outside, who informs me that all the women are with Amari inside. 
My eyes land on my wife on the couch. Her eyes are closed, and she keeps wincing. I rush to her side and bury my face on her chest. 
“Babe, I am so sorry. Please…”
“Take me to the hospital,” she whispers right before my worst nightmare begins.
Amari’s body becomes limp and everyone in the room gasps in horror. 
“Amari! Babe!” I shout out and get no response. 
I pick her up and run towards the door. “Lord, I can’t lose my wife,” I murmur a prayer as I hurry towards the car. 
“I will drive,” Isaac says and slips into the driver’s seat while I carefully get into the back with my unconscious wife. 
“Wait!” Leah shouts and slips in the car next to Isaac.
“What happened?” Isaac asks and I have no idea. 
“I don’t know. She was crying a lot and blowing her nose,” Leah explains what happened to the point when I walked in. 
“So, she told you that she wanted to go to the hospital and you all kept her there?” Isaac is now screaming at Leah. I don’t think he is even paying attention to the road, because he has just driven through a red light. 
“We…we thought she was angry.”
“Amari is no drama queen. She would not just…”
“Isaac,” I warn when he drives through another red light and passing cars hoot at us. I sometimes forget that he is one of Amari’s closest friends. I should not have let him drive. 
“Sorry, we are here,” he announces as he stops in front of the emergency department. I rush out and run inside with Amari on my arms and Leah behind me. 
Amari is quickly taken to the resuscitation area. I can hear a lot of medical term I don’t quite understand, but what is clear is that my wife is critical. I did this. I was an asshole and wrote horrific things about Amari. 
A few minutes later, I am pacing up and down the hospital corridor. Isaac is pacing the opposite direction, while Leah is curled up on the bench. We were asked to wait outside to give the medical team the chance to work on Amari.
“Mr Lord,” a nurse, probably in her late forties calls the moment the emergency unit sliding doors open. We all rush toward her. Lord, let it be good news.
“Mr…Mr Lord,” she stammers and my heart sinks. 
“Is my wife okay?”
She nods and swallows her saliva. “She is now on a ventilator.”
“But?”
“The doctors want to know how far pregnant she is,”
I narrow my eyes. “Why?”
There is no way that she is this nervous for wanting to know how far the pregnancy is.
“She is in a critical condition. The pregnancy is an extra stress on her heart and everything. Decisions might need to be made.”
“What decisions?”
“The mother’s life takes priority over the pregnancy. Those decision may mean termination of pregnancy or delivering a premature baby. It all depends how far pregnant she is.”
I take a sit, my head already spinning. My wife is critical and our baby may not live. It is all my fault. 
“How…how far should she be for the baby to live?” Leah asks.
“Look, we are not there just yet, but most likely will get there. A baby must be at least Thirty-four weeks to be safe. That’s when the lungs are matured.”
“And before that?”
“Very few live if born before that,” the nurse responds with a sigh. 
“But they do?” Leah presses on. That is because she knows that Amari is only twenty-eight weeks. 
“Miracles happen. We had one born at twenty-two weeks last year. He spent four months in the hospital, but he made it.”
That response shutters my already broken heart. She is trying to sound hopeful, but that was one in a million. It means the chances of our baby making it are very slim. 
Leah continues talking to the nurse, but I can’t make out anything else they are saying. The nurse is soon back inside. I lift my feet on the bench, drop my head on my knees and hug my legs as my tears start flowing down. Just this morning, I had everything I ever wanted. My wife and our unborn child. I could leave this place with nothing.
“Brother Lord,” Leah calls to me, but I can’t talk right now.
“When Sister White told Amari that you are a different man from the person who wrote those hurtful things, Amari said she knew that. I don’t know what you are feeling and thinking right now. I thought you should know that.”
I lift up my head to look at her. I am touched that someone said that. Amari’s response makes me feel somewhat better. It also reminds me just how much I did not deserve her. 
“Of course, she knows. Amari is smart and level-headed. She would never blame Nathan for any of this,” Isaac finally speaks. “I should have gone inside,” he adds and I shake my head. 
“This is on me, not you, Isaac.”
“You had nothing to do with this, Nathan. Amari is ill, it has nothing to do with you,”
“Her blood pressure might have gone up, because of what I wrote. She might have had a heart attack.”
“Maybe, but it had nothing to do with you. Amari is sick, something is wrong with her that is not related to that stupid post by Ella. Don’t you get it?” Isaac is now yelling. 
“You don’t know that. Leah says she got dizzy after seeing the post. I said mean things on those messages,” I remind him and he shakes his head.
“I know that she is your wife, but I know Amari. That stupid post would never get to her,” he insists right before two doctors and three official looking women in suits come out. I jump on my feet and say a prayer. 
“Mr Lord, these are poison centre personnel,” the doctors says with an expression I can’t read. 
“Poison centre?” I ask, dumbfounded.
“Your wife’s symptoms all point to organophosphate poisoning.”
“Excuse me?”
So, Isaac was right that something else is wrong with Amari, but how on earth would she be poisoned?
“Do you have any pesticides at home?” one of the poison centre women asks.
“No. The gardener uses organic stuff for our flowers and grass. The whole estate uses organic gardening stuff.”
The three women exchange looks before one asks, “Do you have any reason to believe that she might want to kill herself?”
“What?”
“You are both trending. She is pregnant and emotionally vulnerable,” one points out. I don’t blame them, they don’t know my wife. 
“No, my wife will never try to kill herself.”
Amari might be angry and hurt, but this one thing I am certain of. 
“Maybe, but she is pregnant and emotional,” the doctor insists and Isaacs snaps.
“She did not try to kill herself! Someone did this! Where do you think she would even get that stuff?” he yells and storms away from us. I have never seen him so irritable. 
“I was with her when she found out what was on social media until now. You don’t know her. She would never try to kill herself,” Leah adds right before her nostrils start running and her tears flow nonstop. 
“I am not crying. This is what happened to Amari,” she says, fear flashing in her teary eyes. 
The doctor’s exchange looks before their phones start buzzing. Leah is quickly taken inside and now I am really freaking out. Leah and my wife have been poisoned. I run behind the doctors and Isaac follows behind me. 
“What is happening?” I ask the one who has just gotten off the phone. 
“It is Sarin.”
I look at him blankly. I have never heard that name.
“It is a highly poisonous biological warfare substance that is usually used by terrorists.”
“National security agents are on the way, they will explain. I have to treat your wife urgently.”
The doctor hurries away. I exchange looks with Isaac when paramedics arrive one after the other with patients we know too well. 
“Mrs Gail, Sister Harvey, Sister White?” 
Oh Lord, they are all sick! It is safe to say everyone who was with my wife has been poisoned.
“Babe?” Isaac questions when Nancy is brought in on a wheelchair.
“Amari was not angry. We were wrong. She was sick,” Nancy says. I am now a complete mess.