The Hospital
The rhythmic beeping of hospital monitors slowly filtered through Emma’s consciousness. Her eyelids felt heavy as she struggled to open them, the harsh fluorescent lights momentarily blinding her. As her vision cleared, she found Alex sitting in a chair beside her bed, his usual immaculate appearance disheveled, tie loosened and jacket discarded.
For a moment, before he noticed she was awake, Emma caught a glimpse of raw emotion on his face – fear, guilt, something else she couldn’t quite name. Then his mask slipped back into place, though not as perfectly as usual.
“The doctor will be here soon,” he said, his voice carefully controlled. “You’ve been out for a few hours.”
Before Emma could respond, the door burst open. Marcus, her closest friend from the legal department, stormed in, his normally jovial face dark with fury. “You absolute bastard,” he spat at Alex, moving to stand protectively between him and Emma’s bed.
“Marcus,” Emma started weakly, but was interrupted by another arrival.
“What the hell did you do to my sister?” Jack’s voice boomed through the room as he entered, still in his surgeon’s scrubs from another hospital across town. His presence filled the small space with protective anger.
Alex stood, drawing himself up to his full height. “I suggest you both lower your voices. This is a hospital and Emma needs —”
“Don’t you dare pretend to care about what Emma needs,” Jack cut him off. “Not after what you pulled today.”
Emma’s head spun trying to follow the confrontation. The memories came flooding back – the divorce papers, Victoria’s smug smile, the world going dark. She pressed a hand to her abdomen instinctively, a gesture that didn’t go unnoticed by anyone in the room.
A knock at the door interrupted the brewing storm. The doctor entered, her presence immediately commanding attention. “Mrs. Barrett?” She consulted her chart. “I’m Dr. Smith. We need to discuss your condition.”
“Whatever you have to say, you can say it in front of my brother,” Emma said quickly, reaching for Jack’s hand. “And Marcus,” she added, seeing her friend’s concerned face.
“Mr. Barrett should stay as well,” Dr. Smith said, looking pointedly at Alex, who had started to move toward the door. He froze, then slowly returned to his position by the wall.
“Mrs. Barrett, your collapse was caused by a combination of severe stress and your current condition. You’re approximately eight weeks pregnant.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Emma’s hand tightened around Jack’s as Dr. Smith continued.
“Given your medical history and the circumstances of your collapse, we’re classifying this as a high-risk pregnancy. You’ll need to make some significant lifestyle changes, particularly regarding stress management.”
Alex’s sharp intake of breath drew Emma’s attention. He was staring at her, mind clearly racing back exactly eight weeks – to Shanghai, to the night when their carefully constructed arrangement had blurred into something real, something neither of them had dared to acknowledge in the light of day.
“I’ll be supervising your care personally,” Dr. Smith continued, “and I’m prescribing complete bed rest for the next week. After that, we’ll reassess, but you’ll need to significantly reduce your workload and avoid stressful situations.”
Marcus let out a bitter laugh. “Might be difficult, considering her husband just served her divorce papers.”
Dr. Smith’s expression hardened as she turned to Alex. “Mr. Barrett, I hope you understand that legal proceedings of any kind would be extremely inadvisable in your wife’s current condition.”
“Everyone out,” Alex said suddenly, his voice rough. “Except Emma.”
“Like hell,” Jack started, but Emma squeezed his hand.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “I need to talk to him.”
Reluctantly, Jack and Marcus left, Dr. Smith followed, but not before giving Alex a warning look that clearly communicated the consequences of upsetting her patient.
When the door closed, silence fell between them. Emma could see Alex struggling to form words, his carefully constructed world crumbling around him.
“Shanghai,” he finally said, his voice barely audible. “The night after the merger celebration.”
Emma didn’t respond, didn’t need to. They both remembered – the triumph of the successful deal, the bottles of champagne, the way they’d looked at each other and, just for one night, stopped pretending their marriage was purely business.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, moving closer to her bed.
“When should I have done that?” Emma’s voice was tired. “When you were rekindling things with Victoria? Or perhaps when you were serving me divorce papers?”
Just then, the door swung open once mor, and in walked Victoria, her face a picture of perfectly calculated concern. Her eyes widened slightly as she took in the scene, her gaze drifting over Alex, then Marcus, before finally settling on Emma. She gave a small, sympathetic smile, through her eyes glinted with something much sharper.
“Oh, Emma,” Victoria said softly, moving to stand at the foot of the bed. “I’m so sorry to hear about the… complications. It must be incredibly stressful.”
Emma’s fingers tightened on the bed sheets, her pulse quickening as she watched Victoria’s carefully orchestrated display of sympathy. There was nothing genuine in her expression — only the cold satisfaction of someone who’d found an opening and intended to exploit it.
“Thank you, Victoria,” Emma replied, her voice steady despite the resentment bubbling under the surface. “I’m sure everything will work out.”
Victoria smiled, a thin, humorless curve of her lips. “Of course. But you know, with all the demands on Alex, it’s important for him to have the right support. This is all just so… unexpected.”
Her gaze flicked briefly to Alex, as though to gauge his reaction. But Alex’s eyes were locked on Emma, his face unreadable, and for once, he seemed to ignore Victoria’s subtle provocations.
Alex opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by Victoria’s voice: “Darling, I guess we’ll need to push back the announcement of our engagement…”
Emma watched as Alex’s face went pale. In that moment, she saw something break in Alex’s expression – his carefully constructed plans, his assumptions about their marriage, his belief that he could simply walk away from what they’d built together.
“Emma,” Alex began, his voice low, almost a whisper, as if afraid of breaking the fragile silence between them. “You’re… carrying my child, aren’t you?”
Emma held his gaze, her throat tight with unspoken words. She wanted to say so much, to lay bare the vulnerability she’d hidden for so long, but the pain of his earlier indifference still clung to her, sharp and raw.
“Yes,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “I am.”
