Chapter 3

The conversation between the doctors made my heart sink, little by little.

At the moment when my baby and I needed him most, my husband wasn’t there.

He was busy making soup for another woman.

The attending physician gripped my hand firmly. “You trusted me, so I won’t give up on you. You have to hold on!”

Alright…

I blinked slowly.

Someone in this world was still fighting for me, still hoping I’d make it through. So I had to keep trying.

The intern was still desperately trying to reach Nathan Chase.

My attending physician and the hospital’s top specialists were working side by side, leaving no room for error.

The media broadcasted the emergency, and soon, many generous donors with RH-negative blood came to the hospital to give.

Bag after bag of blood plasma was pumped into my body, and the doctors wiped the sweat from their brows.

“The baby’s out!”

At last, the sound of a baby’s cry filled the room.

But I felt my strength draining away, and my vision blurred. The attending physician shouted at me, “Don’t sleep!”

“Bring the baby over so the mother can see!”

I forced my eyes open and smiled at the small, slightly blue baby.

She was so beautiful, soft and sweet, just like Nathan must have looked when he was born.

The intern suddenly raised his phone in excitement. “Dr. Chase just called! We got through!”

The crisis wasn’t over yet, but my attending physician looked like she’d grabbed a lifeline.

“Did you hear that? Your husband’s on the phone. Hang in there!”

They put the call on speaker, and Nathan’s frantic, angry voice filled the operating room.

“Emily, where’s your hospital bag? You’re not giving birth yet anyway, right? Let Tina use it.”

“Oh, and the maternity nurse you hired, can Tina use her first? She had an early delivery and doesn’t have time to find a reliable one.”

Boom.

The last bit of hope I had collapsed. I felt the final sliver of strength leave my body.

The attending physician frowned and had the intern hold the phone to her.

“Dr. Chase, your wife has had a severe amniotic fluid embolism. She’s in critical condition. Your expertise is needed urgently to save her.”

The line went dead.

“He hung up! Is he out of his mind? His own wife is dying, and he’s worried about someone else’s maternity nurse?”

“What kind of ‘renowned doctor’ is this? He’s nothing but a heartless jerk!”

Their voices were loud. Even I couldn’t help but laugh.

And in that fleeting moment, all hope drowned beneath the waves of despair, swallowing my last breath of consciousness.

“Critical!”

“The patient’s oxygen levels are plummeting. Contact the blood bank for more plasma, immediately!”

In an instant, my once-stable vitals began to nosedive.

Maternal instinct told me not to give up, but I simply couldn’t hold on any longer.

Beep—

“August 20th, 2024, at 2:21 p.m., patient Emily Perkins, declared dead.”