Rushed to the Hospital
Lights flashed in a blur as the ambulance sped through the streets. I lay on the stretcher, heart pounding, gasping for breath. The paramedics worked feverishly around me, their voices urgent yet distant. “We need to stabilize her,” one said, his fingers probing my belly. “Blood pressure’s dangerously high.”
As we entered the hospital, I caught fleeting glimpses of the chaos inside. Nurses hurried by, pushing carts filled with equipment. I wanted to scream, to tell them my husband left me, but the words stuck in my throat.
“Rebecca, can you hear me?” A doctor leaned over me, concern etched on his face. The fluorescent lights above hummed like angry bees, their brightness overwhelming. “We need to move fast. Your condition is critical.” My mind raced. What did he mean by critical?
I strained to listen, picking up snippets of their conversation. “High risk for stroke,” said a voice to my left. “If we don’t deliver soon, she could lose consciousness—maybe even the baby.” Panic clawed at my chest. I might not even get to see my child if things went wrong.
The fear was electric, coursing through my veins. I thought of Ethan, how he had walked out on me, dismissing my cries for help like I was an annoyance. “Where is he?” I gasped, desperation leaking through my pain. “He’s supposed to be here.”
The doctor exchanged a glance with a nurse. “We’ll do everything we can, Rebecca. Just hold on.” Hold on. That echoed in my mind, but I felt myself slipping, darkness edging in at the corners of my vision.
In the Delivery Room
The bright lights of the delivery room felt like spotlights turned on high, illuminating my agony. The air was thick with antiseptic and the sounds of hurried footsteps, beeping machines, and muffled voices. I could barely breathe through the pain, each contraction igniting fresh waves of torment.
Through gritted teeth, I fumbled for my phone, my hands shaking uncontrollably. I opened a new message to Ethan, my fingers moving clumsily. “I’m in labor. Please come.” I hit send, my heart pounding with the hope he might still care.
No response. My throat tightened. The tears I had held back since he left began to spill, hot and bitter. “Why aren’t you here, Ethan? I need you,” I whispered to the empty room, my voice cracking under the weight of my solitude.
The doctor’s voice broke through my thoughts. “Rebecca, focus on me. We need to prepare for delivery. I know it hurts, but you’re almost there.” I could feel the pressure building within me, a fierce urgency that demanded release.
Suddenly, I heard it—sirens blaring in the distance. My heart sank. “What’s happening?” I managed to gasp, panic rising as the realization hit me. The police were coming. Were they here for Ethan?
“Stay with us, Rebecca,” a nurse urged, her face close to mine. I wanted to scream, to ask what they wanted with him, to understand why the world felt like it was collapsing around me. But the pain seized me again, forcing every coherent thought from my mind.
Just before the baby is delivered, I hear sirens outside — the police are coming to question Ethan about his whereabouts.
