Chapter 3 - THE LONGEST DRIVE
The ambulance ride felt endless.
Every bump in the road sent pain through my body.
Carla kept one hand near my shoulder while monitoring the baby.
“Stay with me, Anna.”
“I’m here.”
“Keep breathing slowly.”
I stared at the ceiling lights.
They passed above me one after another.
For three years, David had told me I exaggerated everything.
My sadness was attention-seeking.
My exhaustion was laziness.
My fear of Sylvia was disrespect.
Now strangers were moving urgently around me because my pain was real.
At the hospital, an obstetric team met us at the emergency entrance.
They rushed me into a private examination room.
Dr. Lena Foster explained that the impact had triggered placental bleeding.
The baby was in distress.
“We are going to try to stabilize both of you.”
“What happens if you can’t?”
“We may need to deliver tonight.”
My child was not supposed to arrive for another nine weeks.
I thought about the unfinished nursery.
The tiny yellow blankets still folded inside their packaging.
The list of baby names hidden in my nightstand.
David had refused to discuss names until he knew whether the baby was a boy.
Sylvia wanted a grandson named after her late husband.
I had not told either of them that I was carrying a girl.
Dr. Foster adjusted the monitor.
“Is there anyone you trust who can make medical decisions if necessary?”
“My father.”
“Not your husband?”
“No.”
The answer came easily.
A nurse placed a new emergency contact form before me.
For the first time since marrying David, I wrote my father’s name.
Chief Justice Jonathan Hale.
I added his private number.
Then the pain intensified.
The room blurred.
Dr. Foster ordered medication and called for the neonatal team.
Through the open doorway, I heard raised voices.
David had arrived with his attorney.
He was demanding access to me.
Agent Reed refused.
“I am her husband,” David shouted.
“You cannot keep me away.”
“She has requested that you not enter.”
“She is confused.”
“She is injured.”
“You are also a subject in the investigation.”
David lowered his voice.
“I know the sheriff.”
Agent Reed answered quietly.
“So do I.”
“The difference is that I did not call him for a favor.”
The argument stopped.
Minutes later, another figure appeared in the hallway.
My father had arrived.
Jonathan Hale was sixty-six years old.
His silver hair was slightly disordered from travel.
He still wore the dark overcoat he had thrown over his Christmas clothes.
For one second, he was not the Chief Justice.
He was simply my father.
He came to my bedside and took my hand.
“I’m here.”
I began crying.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just enough to release three years of fear.
“Dad, I’m sorry.”
He shook his head.
“You called.”
“That is all that matters.”
The fetal monitor sounded another warning.
Dr. Foster looked toward the operating room.
My father tightened his hand around mine.
May you like
Then the medical team began moving.
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