Chapter 3 - Room Twelve
The hospital lights were painfully bright.
Doctors moved quickly around me.
A nurse cut away part of my dress so they could attach monitors.
Another nurse squeezed my hand.
“Stay with me.”
“I’m trying.”
The baby’s heartbeat filled the room.
Fast.
Uneven.
But there.
I started crying.
Not because I felt safe.
Because for the first time that night, I heard proof that my child was still fighting.
A doctor leaned over me.
“You’ve had significant trauma and contractions.”
“Am I losing him?”
“We’re doing everything we can.”
The word him echoed inside me.
David had never wanted to know whether the baby was a boy or girl.
He had said surprises were childish.
I had asked the technician privately.
A boy.
I had known for eleven weeks.
I had planned to tell David on Christmas morning.
Now that secret felt like it belonged to another life.
At 8:16 p.m., my father entered Room Twelve.
He wore dark trousers, an open overcoat, and no tie.
For everyone else, Jonathan Hale was a man whose opinions became history.
For me, he was simply Dad.
His hair had gone gray since I last saw him.
His face looked older.
I had caused some of that distance.
Three years earlier, when I married David, my father had warned me.
Not because David came from a different family.
Not because he lacked influence.
Because he had noticed the small things.
The way David answered questions for me.
The way he interrupted.
The way he corrected what I wore.
I had accused my father of being controlling.
Then I had stopped calling.
Dad came to the side of the bed.
He looked at the bruise forming along my shoulder.
His jaw tightened.
“I should have called you.”
I started to cry again.
“No.”
He took my hand.
“You should never have needed permission to come home.”
I closed my eyes.
“I thought you’d say you warned me.”
“I don’t care about being right.”
His voice broke for the first time.
“I care that you survive tonight.”
The fetal monitor suddenly changed.
A nurse looked sharply toward the screen.
The doctor entered fast.
“Anna, we need to move.”
Dad stepped back.
“What’s happening?”
“We’re taking her upstairs now.”
My father released my hand.
But before they rolled me away, he bent close.
“Whatever happens next, David will not decide your life again.”
May you like
The elevator doors closed.
And then the monitor began screaming.
