In the Hospital, Alone and Afraid
The sterile smell of antiseptic stung my nostrils as they rushed me through the hospital doors, the bright lights blinding me. “Get her on the table!” a voice shouted, and I was jolted from the stretcher to the operating room in seconds.
A team of doctors surrounded me, their faces a flurry of focused urgency. “Rebecca, we need to check your vitals,” one of them said, the weight of her gaze heavy with concern.
I could barely respond. My heart raced, and each pulse seemed to echo the reality of Ethan’s absence. “Where’s my husband?” I croaked, panic rising in my throat.
“We’ll take care of you,” another doctor assured, but their words felt hollow. I remembered his dismissive laughter, the way he walked out, leaving me alone and broken.
As they monitored my blood pressure, the numbers blared on the screen — dangerously high. “We might need to perform an emergency C-section,” one of the doctors said, and I felt the floor drop from beneath me.
