Chapter 2 - The Waiting Room Hyenas
When my eyes cracked open next, the sterile stench of antiseptic and burning ozone assaulted my nostrils.
Florescent bulbs flickered violently overhead.
Sirens wailed in the distance, muffled by the double-pane soundproof glass of a private hospital suite.
I was strapped to an emergency gurney, tubes snaking into both my arms, oxygen biting at my nose.
“Fetal heart rate is plummeting! One hundred... now ninety-two!” a female paramedic shouted, her hands pumping rhythmically against an IV bag.
“Abdominal trauma blunt and extensive! Internal hemorrhaging suspected! Clear the trauma corridor!”
I tried to speak, but the plastic mask muffled my sobs into broken whimpers.
My baby.
Every maternal instinct in my chest felt hollowed out, burned down to ash.
I reached down with a trembling hand, feeling the tight monitor bands strapped around my blood-soaked stomach.
Nothing.
No kicks. No movements. Only the dull, agonizing sensation of tearing muscle.
Through the swinging double doors of the Level-1 Trauma Center, I caught a glimpse of the VIP recovery foyer.
Genevieve sat there.
She looked entirely pristine, perched gracefully on an ivory leather sofa like a queen holding court.
Her hair was styled to perfection.
Her eyes were dry.
In her right hand, she held a crystal tumbler of sparkling water provided by the hospital’s executive staff.
Sitting across from her was Victoria Sterling.
Victoria was the heiress to Sterling Logistics—the woman Genevieve had tried to force Julian to marry for four agonizing years.
Victoria was dressed in an emerald designer dress, swinging her crossed legs nonchalantly while thumbing through her phone.
“Is she actually dying?” Victoria asked, her voice carrying clearly into the hallway with bored curiosity.
“One can only hope the surgeon is slow,” Genevieve replied without missing a beat, taking an elegant sip of water.
“The fall was catastrophic, Victoria darling. Even if the girl miraculously wakes up, that mangled fetus inside her won’t survive the night.”
“Which means Julian will be officially single within days.”
Victoria laughed softly, adjusting her diamond tennis bracelet.
“Poor Julian. Playing house with a homeless girl must have been exhausting. He’s far too soft-hearted for this world.”
“He is weak,” Genevieve said coldly, checking her manicured nails.
“He sits at home pretending to write essays because he lacks the killer instinct his father had.”
“Once the girl is in the morgue, Julian will be broken. He will come crawling back to my guidance, begging for structure.”
“That is when you step in, Victoria. You comfort him. You sign the joint-venture marriage contract.”
“And our families will finally absorb the remaining commercial maritime routes in the north.”
“Consider it done,” Victoria smiled, typing away on her smartphone. “I already drafted the public condolence statement. It makes me look remarkably supportive.”
Listening through the cracked doors, tears burned hot against the plastic edges of my oxygen mask.
They were treating my child’s life like a line-item deduction.
They were treating my body like garbage to be shoveled into an incinerator.
“Doc... please,” I choked out, grabbing the paramedic’s wrist with all the remaining strength in my soul. “Save... save my boy... kill me, but take the baby out...”
“Hold on, Sophia!” the doctor shouted, slamming through the red swinging doors into Operating Room 4.
“General anesthesia! Now! We are doing an emergency crash C-section!”
“She’s bleeding out from the uterine rupture! Push two units of O-negative immediately!”
Cold metal instruments clinked.
A mask dropped over my face, hissing with sweet, heavy gas.
My vision began to tunnel into gray static.
I thought of Julian.
I thought of his quiet, tired eyes when he brought me chamomile tea at three in the morning.
I thought of how he would hold me during my worst panic attacks, whispering that one day he would build me a fortress where nobody could ever hurt us.
Julian, I thought as the anesthetic dragged me into the deep, dark trench of the unconscious.
May you like
I failed you. I couldn’t protect our son.
And outside in the corridor, the laughter of two women echoed like jackals ripping flesh off an open wound.
