Chapter 5
Her consciousness felt like it was sinking underwater, lost at the bottom of the sea.
Vivian felt herself endlessly falling, swallowed by icy, suffocating darkness all around her.
Sometimes, fractured flashes of light drifted past: the blinding glare of the surgical lights, the cold metallic sheen of the instruments, and Leon's indifferent profile as he turned away.
The first thing she felt was pain.
A dull, heavy ache radiated from deep within her abdomen, as if something precious had been violently torn away, leaving behind a gaping, bloody emptiness.
Then came the pain in her side, which was sharper and more piercing. Every breath pulled at her nerves, making the agony even worse.
She struggled to open her eyes.
At first, everything was just a blinding blur of white, but gradually, her vision sharpened into the sterile ceiling of a hospital room.
The air was laced with the biting mix of disinfectant and medicinal chemicals, each breath chilling her lungs with its icy sting.
"How do you feel?" the nurse called out from beside her.
Vivian struggled to move her eyes.
A young woman in a nurse's uniform was adjusting the IV drip on the IV stand, her movements swift and practiced.
"The... surgery..." Vivian croaked, her voice hoarse.
"The surgery went great," the nurse said with a gentle smile. "Ms. Summers is doing well, and you're fine too. No complications at all. The anesthesia hasn't worn off yet, so just try to rest a bit longer."
Vivian's hand slowly moved to her stomach.
Under the loose hospital gown, her belly was flat. No bandages wrapped around it, no swelling, nothing like what she'd imagined after surgery.
She paused and then pressed down gently with her fingers, just to check.
Nothing there. Just empty.
The emptiness she felt wasn't just physical. It was something deeper, something emotional.
It was as if something that was supposed to be there had vanished.
"The baby..." Vivian heard herself whisper, barely audible. "What happened to my baby?"
The nurse's hand froze mid-adjustment on the IV line.
"Ms. Lane," she turned back, her voice gentle and cautious, "you were only a few weeks pregnant. Because of the anesthesia and medication used during the surgery... the baby didn't make it."
Each word struck her in succession, sharp and unrelenting.
Vivian stared at the ceiling, her eyes wide and blank, unable to process what the nurse had just said.
The baby didn't make it. That tiny, flickering white dot on the ultrasound failed to survive.
"But try not to be too sad. You're still young. There will be other chances in the future..." the nurse continued softly.
Vivian didn't catch anything else the nurse said. Her mind was already drifting far away.
She turned onto her side, curling up tight, her hand gripping her stomach desperately, as if she could hold on to what was lost.
There was no sign of any injury, but the pain kept intensifying, wave after wave.
It wasn't from any wound.
It was a cold, hopeless ache radiating from deep within her womb.
Tears streamed down her face in silence, soaking the pillow beneath her.
Not a single sound escaped her lips, only the faint trembling of her shoulders betraying her silent grief.
The nurse murmured a few more gentle words, but when Vivian didn't react, she sighed softly and slipped out of the room, leaving her alone with her sorrow.
Vivian lost track of time.
Outside the window, the daylight faded from stark white to a dim yellow.
The door to the hospital room swung open again.
Vivian didn't look back.
She remained curled up, her eyes locked onto a vague mark on the wall.
Leon's footsteps came to a halt beside the bed.
He stood there for a moment, then took out a check from his suit jacket, and placed it on the nightstand.
"Rachel's surgery was a success," Leon said, his tone emotionless. "The doctor said her stats were all improving."
Vivian didn't move.
"This is enough for you to take half a year off and rest," Leon said, his voice flat and distant. "Don't worry about your job right now. Just focus on getting better."
At last, Vivian forced herself to turn her head and meet his gaze.
Leon stood tall in the dimming twilight, his silhouette sharp, suit immaculate. There wasn't a crease on him.
His face was exactly as it had been in the office yesterday. He was calm, businesslike, and utterly emotionless, as if nothing could ever reach him.
It was as if what she had just lost was nothing but something insignificant.
"Leon," Vivian spoke at last, her voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. "Do you have any idea what I've lost?"
He looked at her, his gaze unfathomable.
"I know," he replied, his voice flat. "But Rachel survived."
With that, he headed for the door.
"Wait," Vivian called out, her voice hoarse.
Leon paused at the doorway, refusing to look back.
"If..." Vivian forced out each word, her voice rough and deliberate. "If I were the one lying on that operating table today, if I were the one dying... would you have asked Rachel to give up her kidney to save me?"
Silence stretched out in the hospital room, heavy and suffocating.
Outside the window, the sun dipped lower, casting a long shadow behind him.
"No," Leon said, his tone cold. "She's too weak for that."
And with that, he walked out the door.
The door closed softly behind him.
Vivian let her eyes drift shut, her hand still clutching her stomach.
All that was left was emptiness. No trace of the tiny heartbeat that would never return.
The check was on the nightstand, the zeros glaring back at her.
She felt a bitter urge to laugh.
Her baby, her kidney, and three years of marriage had all been reduced to a sum of money.