Chapter 56
By the time they reached the reception, Emma’s breathing was shallow, her face pale and damp with sweat. The sterile brightness of the hospital greeted them, and a nurse immediately approached, her expression alarmed as she took in Emma’s condition.
“She’s seven months pregnant,” Thomas said quickly. “She’s in labor—severe pain, contractions close together.”
The nurse nodded, motioning for a gurney. “We’ll take it from here.”
Thomas hesitated for a brief moment, his grip tightening around Emma as she whimpered in his arms.
Reluctantly, Thomas placed her on the gurney, his heart twisting as he watched the nurses wheel her toward the maternity ward. He followed closely, refusing to let her out of his sight.
“Sir, you’ll need to wait outside,” a nurse said gently, her tone firm but understanding as they reached the doors to the maternity ward.
Thomas’s jaw tightened, his resolve unwavering.
“I’m not leaving her,” he said, his voice low and determined, daring anyone to challenge him.
Emma’s voice cut through the tension, weak but steady.
“Thomas.” She squeezed his hand, her fingers trembling yet firm enough to convey her trust. Her eyes met his, soft but resolute. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine. Just… don’t go far.”
His heart clenched, every fiber of his being screaming to stay by her side. But the look in her eyes—one of reassurance, even in her pain—made him pause. Finally, he nodded, his voice thick with emotion.
“I’ll be right here,” he promised, leaning down so only she could hear. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The medical team moved swiftly, closing the doors behind her as Thomas stood rooted in place, his hand now empty, the warmth of her touch lingering like a ghost.
In the hallway, the adrenaline that had propelled him through the chaos began to fade, leaving behind a suffocating sense of helplessness. He paced, running a hand through his hair, replaying every moment—the fear in Emma’s eyes, the tremor in her voice, the strength she managed to summon despite the overwhelming pain.
His chest ached as he stared at the closed doors, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. The seconds dragged like hours, every tick of the clock a cruel reminder of how little control he had.
All he could do was wait. And hope.
* * *
The fluorescent lights of the hospital delivery room cast a harsh glare over the chaos as doctors and nurses worked with swift precision. Emma lay on the table, her body trembling, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as another contraction tore through her. Every muscle screamed in protest, but her mind was consumed by a singular thought: the twins. They had to survive.
“Stay with me, Emma,” the obstetrician said, her voice calm but edged with urgency. “One more push. You’re almost there.”
Emma gripped the sides of the bed so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her vision blurred with tears, pain radiating through her like a relentless wave. The muffled sounds of hurried instructions and beeping monitors filled the room, but they were drowned out by the deafening roar of her heartbeat.
“You can do this, Emma,” a nurse encouraged, her hand briefly resting on Emma’s shoulder. “Just one more.”
Summoning strength she didn’t know she had, Emma pushed with everything left in her, her scream piercing through the chaos. Her body convulsed, and for a moment, the world seemed to still. Then, the air was filled with the thin, fragile cry of new life.
“It’s a boy,” the doctor announced, lifting the tiny form for a fleeting second before the neonatal team whisked him away.
Emma tried to raise her head, desperate for a glimpse of her son, but her strength gave out, her body sinking heavily into the mattress. Her vision swam, the edges darkening as the exhaustion pulled at her.
“Emma,” the doctor’s voice broke through, steady but urgent. “We’re not done yet. The second baby is coming. I need you to stay with me.”
Another wave of pain struck, more intense than the last. Emma sobbed, her hands gripping the sheets as though they could anchor her to the moment. Her body trembled violently, every ounce of energy drained from her.
“Almost there, Emma,” the nurse urged. “You’re doing so well. Just one more push.”
Through sheer willpower, Emma bore down again, a guttural cry tearing from her throat. The pain surged, blinding in its intensity, before giving way to a faint, fragile cry. Relief mingled with fear as tears streamed down her face.
“It’s a girl,” the doctor said, her voice softer now but laced with urgency. The baby, impossibly tiny and fragile, was quickly handed to another team of specialists. The second cry, faint and weak, lingered in the air like a thread of hope.
Emma’s head lolled to the side as the room’s energy shifted. Her body felt like lead, her breaths shallow and uneven. She could hear the murmurs of the medical team, their clipped tones underscoring the seriousness of the situation.
“The twins are in critical condition,” a nurse said, her voice low but urgent. “We need to get them to the NICU immediately.”
Emma tried to speak, to call out for her babies, but no sound came. Her vision dimmed, the world narrowing to the sound of her own heartbeat. Somewhere in the haze, she felt the nurse’s hand squeeze hers briefly, a small reassurance amid the chaos.
“Emma, we’ve got them,” the nurse said softly. “Focus on resting. They’re in good hands.”
But Emma couldn’t rest. Her mind clung to the cries of her newborns, the fragile reminders that they were alive, fighting for their lives just as she had fought to bring them into the world. A tear slipped down her cheek as exhaustion finally claimed her, dragging her into a restless, uneasy darkness.
The minutes felt endless as Emma was wheeled into the recovery room, her body heavy and aching, her mind a chaotic swirl of fragmented memories. She wanted answers, needed to see her babies, but her body betrayed her, leaving her too weak to move, too exhausted to even cry out. The emptiness in her arms was unbearable, and the fear that gripped her heart felt like it might consume her entirely.
Meanwhile, Thomas paced the waiting area, his jaw clenched and his fists tightly balled at his sides. He was a man accustomed to control, to fixing problems and creating solutions, but now, he was utterly helpless. The sterile walls of the hospital seemed to close in around him, each second dragging by with excruciating slowness. Every time a nurse or doctor appeared, his breath caught, but none of them stopped to give him the answers he so desperately needed.
Finally, the door to the waiting area opened, and a doctor stepped through, her scrubs wrinkled and her face lined with exhaustion. Thomas was on her in an instant.
“The babies?” His voice cracked under the weight of his worry.
“They’ve been delivered,” the doctor said, her tone calm but professional. “They’re premature, but stable for now. Both are in the neonatal intensive care unit for monitoring.”
Thomas released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Relief mixed with lingering anxiety—”stable for now” wasn’t the reassurance he wanted, but it was something.
“And Emma?” he pressed, his voice trembling slightly.
The doctor offered a small, reassuring smile. “She’s resting. The delivery took a toll on her, but she’s strong. She’ll recover with time.”
Thomas nodded, his shoulders sagging as a fraction of the tension left his body. He made his way to Emma’s recovery room, each step heavier than the last, his chest tightening at the thought of what he might find.
When he entered the room, the sight of her hit him like a punch to the gut. Emma looked so fragile, her pale face framed by damp strands of hair, her body still and weak beneath the thin hospital blanket. But even in her vulnerability, there was something undeniably resilient about her.
He moved quietly to her side, pulling a chair close and taking her hand in his. His thumb brushed against her skin, grounding himself in the simple act of being there for her.
“Hey, mama,” he said softly, his voice filled with a tenderness he rarely let anyone see. “You did a great job. How are you feeling?”
Emma’s eyelids fluttered open, her gaze meeting his with an effort that seemed to cost her everything. Her voice was barely above a whisper, hoarse and fragile. “Where… are they? My babies?”
Thomas leaned forward, his heart aching at the fear in her eyes. “They’re in the NICU,” he said gently, willing his voice to remain steady. “The doctors are taking care of them. They’re doing everything they can.”
Tears welled in Emma’s eyes, spilling down her cheeks. Her lips trembled as she choked out her deepest fear. “What if… what if they don’t make it, Thomas?”
The anguish in her voice cut through him like a blade. He leaned closer, his free hand cupping her cheek, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that demanded her attention. “Don’t think like that,” he said firmly, his voice steady despite the storm raging in his chest. “They’re fighters, Emma. Just like their mother. They’re strong, and they’re getting the best care possible.”
Her tears continued to fall, but the warmth of his touch and the conviction in his words anchored her. “But what if…?” she began again, her voice faltering.
“Stop,” Thomas said, his tone softening but never losing its resolve. “Right now, they need you to heal. To be strong for them when they come out of this. And they will come out of this. You’ll see.”
Emma closed her eyes, her tears soaking into the pillow beneath her. She didn’t have the strength to argue, but his words, his presence, gave her a sliver of hope—a small flame to hold on to in the darkness.
As the hours dragged by in a blur of pain and exhaustion, Emma drifted in and out of a fitful sleep, her mind plagued by images of the twins—so small, so fragile, their tiny bodies connected to machines in the NICU. Each time she opened her eyes, the sterile room seemed colder, the ache in her heart deeper.
A sound shattered the fragile silence: the soft creak of the door opening. Emma turned her head slowly, her movements weighted with fatigue.
Her breath caught in her throat as Alex stepped into the room.
His face was pale, his normally composed expression undone by something raw and vulnerable. Panic and anguish flickered in his eyes as he froze, taking in the sight of her lying weak and exhausted in the hospital bed. He looked like a man on the edge, each step toward her hesitant, as though he feared she might vanish.
“What are you doing here?” Emma’s voice was a low rasp, tinged with equal parts exhaustion and defiance.
“Emma,” Alex said, his voice trembling as he stepped closer. “I came as soon as I heard.”
Her gaze sharpened, exhaustion giving way to a cold, brittle anger.
“You’re too late, Alex,” she said, her words cutting like glass.
