Chapter Two

The ambulance doors flew open at City Center, and the smell of disinfectant hit me in the face.

They rolled me through the emergency entrance under strip lights that passed overhead one by one.

Nora walked beside the stretcher, fingers on my pulse, giving the receiving nurse the kind of report that made everyone around her stand straighter.

"First pregnancy. Thirty-six weeks and two days. Spontaneous rupture about an hour ago. Clear fluid. Fetal heart rate in the ambulance was one forty-two."

Mom jogged behind us with the hospital bag, nearly tripping twice.

A doctor in green scrubs came toward us and flipped open my chart.

"Maya Reed, twenty-six, thirty-six weeks." He looked up. "Father of the baby?"

The hallway went quiet for exactly one second.

Mom looked at Nora. Nora looked at the ceiling.

I looked at the surgical light above the doors and smiled like a person who had left her soul at home.

"Single mother," I said. "No father."

The doctor paused, nodded, and did not ask more.

Pre-op moved fast. Gown. Catheter. Blood draw. IV line. Consent forms.

Nora managed to get permission to come into the operating room because she was a physician. Mom was stopped outside the doors and mouthed, I'm right here, with tears in her eyes.

I gave her what I hoped was a smile.

The operating table was cold under my back.

Nurses adjusted equipment. The OB was scrubbing in next door. Nora stood by my head and held my hand.

"Anesthesia is on the way," she said. "Almost here."

"How many minutes?"

"Soon. Don't panic."

Her expression flickered.

I thought it was the light.

The operating room door opened.

A man walked in.

Surgical cap. Mask. Blue scrubs. Only his eyes showed.

He glanced down at my chart.

Then he looked at me.

Those eyes.

I had watched sunrise with those eyes. Watched movies beside them. Woken up to them in the quiet blue light before morning.

My heart hit my ribs once, hard.

He saw me too.

The calm in his eyes cracked. His pupils tightened. His hand stopped on the chart long enough to bend the corner of the paper.

The monitor beside me went wild.

The nurse looked from the screen to me. "Ms. Reed, are you nervous? Don't worry. Dr. Vale is one of our best anesthesiologists."

Nora's grip on my hand turned painful.

Ethan did not speak.

He read my chart again.

Maya Reed. Twenty-six. Thirty-six weeks and two days. First pregnancy. Premature rupture. C-section.

He turned the page.

Emergency contact: Grace Reed.

Spouse: blank.

His gaze stayed on that empty line for three full seconds.

Then he closed the file and came to the side of the table.

I could smell disinfectant on his scrubs, and under it, something painfully familiar.

He pulled down his mask.

"Maya."

The air stopped.

Ethan Vale.

My ex-boyfriend of eight months.

Standing beside my operating table with the needle he was supposed to put into my spine.

My brain performed a perfect system crash. Blue screen. Frozen cursor. No restart.

"Change doctors," I said.

My voice came out dry and thin. "Please get someone else."

Nora pinched the back of my hand. "Have you lost your mind? Your water broke, the contractions are less than three minutes apart, and you want to shop for anesthesiologists?"

The nurse blinked. "Ms. Reed, Dr. Vale really is excellent."

"I don't care. Anyone else."

Ethan stood still.

He looked at my belly.

His gaze lowered slowly.

Then it fixed there.

I watched his throat move.

He was counting.

Thirty-six weeks.

Eight months since the breakup.

Thirty-six weeks was about eight and a half months.

When I left him, I had already been pregnant.

His jaw tightened until it looked carved.

At last he spoke again, his voice almost too level.

"Your contractions are under three minutes apart, and the baby is breech."

"That is not your business."

"It is my business." He pulled his mask back into place. Only his eyes remained, and there was too much in them for me to look at directly. "The backup anesthesiologist is in another emergency, and your OB says we do not have time to wait. Right now I am your anesthesiologist. After surgery, we talk."

He rolled the tray closer.

"Turn on your side. Curl forward. Arch your back as much as you can."

I froze.

"Maya." He said my name again. Not Ms. Reed. Not the patient.

"Work with me. The baby cannot wait."

Nora helped me turn.

I curled forward and felt his gloved fingers press along my spine, finding the space between the bones.

His fingertips were cool.

The first second he touched me, they trembled.

Then they steadied.

When the needle went in, I bit my lip.

The pain was not in my back.

It was somewhere else entirely.