Chapter 358
“Please,” I beg, my voice breaking. “Just tell me if my baby is okay p>
She pauses at the door and for a moment, I think she’s going to answer me as her lips part slightly, like she’s about to say something, but then she looks away.
“I’ll get someone,” she repeats, and then she’s gone.
The door closes, leaving me alone again and deafening silence fills the room. My chest tightens as my breathing becomes uneven, my thoughts spiraling faster than I can control.
If my baby was okay, she would have said so. She wouldn’t hesitate. She wouldn’t avoid the question. She wouldn’t run out like the hounds of hell were after her.
The realization settles in slowly, then all at once, crashing into me with devastating force… Something happened.
My hand presses harder against my stomach, as if I can force it to change, as if I can rewrite whatever has already been done.
“No…” I whisper as tears blur my vision.
My body starts to shake, my chest tightening painfully as the truth forms in my mind.
My baby is gone.
A sob breaks free, and I press my hand over my mouth, trying to muffle the sound, but it doesn’t help. The pain is everywhere, tearing through me, leaving nothing untouched.
I can’t breathe properly. I can’t think. I can’t take it… I just can’t. Not when my baby is gone.
I can’t stay here. I need to leave.
My hands move to the IV line, and I yank it out without hesitation. Pain shoots up my arm instantly, making me wonder why they make it look so easy in movies. Blood beads at the site, sliding down my skin, but it barely registers.
I pull the wires off next, my movements clumsy and rushed as my hands shake uncontrollably. The machines start beeping louder, but I ignore them.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, but the moment my feet touch the floor, the world tilts violently. I grab onto the edge of the bed to steady myself, dizziness crashing over me in waves as black spots dance at the edges of my vision.
My body feels weak and unstable, like it might give out at any moment, but that doesn’t stop me.
I force myself to move, each step slow and unsteady as pain pulls at my stitches and my head throbs with every movement.
The bathroom is only a few steps away, but it feels like a distance I shouldn’t be able to cross. When I finally reach it, I lean heavily against the doorframe before pushing it open.
Inside, there’s a small pile of clothes, probably brought for me at some point.
I strip out of the hospital gown, wincing as the movement pulls at my body, and quickly change into the clothes with trembling hands. Every action feels delayed, like my body is struggling to keep up with what I’m asking of it.
When I’m done, I look up at the mirror and for a moment, I don’t recognize myself.
My skin is pale, my eyes hollow and my entire face looks drained of life. I look like someone who has already lost everything.
My gaze drops to my stomach again and another wave of pain crashes through me, and I have to grip the sink to stay upright.
I step out of the bathroom and make my way toward the door, keeping my head down as I step into the hallway. It’s busy with nurses moving, voices overlapping, people rushing past without really seeing anything around them.
A nurse turns the corner ahead of me, her eyes landing on me almost immediately. She frowns slightly, like something about me isn’t right, like she’s about to say something.
My heart jumps because for a second, I think I’ve been caught, but then someone calls her name from behind, urgency in their voice, and she turns away.
I keep walking, faster now, ignoring the way my body protests, ignoring the dizziness that threatens to pull me under again. I move through the corridors, past the front desk where people are arguing about something, drawing attention away from everything else.
No one notices me and I use that to my advantage.
By the time I step outside, the air hits my face and I stop for a moment just to breathe, then I raise my hand and flag down a cab.
The driver pulls over quickly, and I climb in, my movements slow and uncoordinated as I give him the address.