Chapter 3 - The Long Wait on the Cold Stone
Panic shattered the sophisticated illusion of the anniversary party in a fraction of a second. Craig fumbled frantically with his phone, his face pale as he barked instructions to emergency dispatchers, while guests scattered away from the scene like frightened birds, whispering among themselves behind cupped hands.
Veronica stood frozen near the shattered dessert table, the emerald fabric of her dress catching the golden glow of the lights while she stared down at the pool of crimson spreading across the flagstones. Her lips moved soundlessly, as if she were trying to form an excuse, but no words came out.
"Don't look at it, Maya. Keep looking at me," Dererick pleaded, his tears hot and fast as they splashed onto my cheeks. He slid his arm underneath my shoulders, lifting my upper body slightly while supporting my lower back, trying desperately to keep me from lying flat on the cold stone. "The ambulance is coming. They're only ten minutes away. You're going to be okay."
Ten minutes.
When you are bleeding out on a stone patio with a baby struggling inside your womb, ten minutes is an eternity.
The pain in my abdomen had evolved from a sharp cramp into a continuous, merciless contraction that felt as though my body was trying to tear itself in half. Every breath came in shallow, wheezing gasps. As a pediatric nurse, my medical training whispered cold, terrifying facts into the back of my mind: Placental abruption. Hemorrhage. Fetal distress. Time is measured in minutes.
"Dererick," I whispered again, my fingers digging into the fabric of his sleeve with a desperate strength I didn't know I still possessed. "If... if something happens..."
"Don't you dare finish that sentence!" he shouted, his voice breaking into a ragged sob. He glared over his shoulder at his parents, who were standing paralyzed near the entrance. "Get away from us! Don't come near her!"
Pamela opened her mouth as if to defend herself, muttering something about how it was an accident, how I shouldn't have been standing there, how I had provoked Veronica by playing the victim. But Walter grabbed his wife’s arm and yanked her backward into the shadows of the foyer, sensing the explosive fury radiating from our son.
The wailing sound of sirens cut through the quiet night air, growing louder and sharper with every passing second until the flashing red and blue lights of an ambulance painted the stone walls of the mansion in harsh, urgent strokes.
Paramedics poured through the estate gates with medical bags, an oxygen tank, and a rolling gurney.
"Step back, sir! Give us room!" a paramedic barked, immediately kneeling beside me with clinical precision.
"She's thirty-two weeks pregnant! There's heavy bleeding and she took a hard fall against the marble!" Dererick babbled, his hands shaking as the medical team took over.
"Ma'am, can you hear me? What's your name?" the lead paramedic asked, shining a small penlight into my eyes while another placed an oxygen mask over my face.
The cool oxygen rushed into my lungs, but it did little to dull the white-hot agony radiating from my lower body. I nodded weakly, tears streaming down my temples and mixing with the sweat on my forehead.
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"Get her on the board, gentle roll, watch the spine and the pelvis," the paramedic instructed his partner.
As they lifted me onto the gurney, a fresh wave of blinding pain hit me, so intense that the edges of my vision went completely black. The last thing I remembered before the world dissolved into total darkness was the sound of Dererick screaming my name, followed by the slamming of the ambulance doors as we sped away into the night.
