Chapter 3
Eric stood at the bedside with the waiver clenched in his fist, and he looked down at me like a stranger.
"Sarah, wake up." His voice dropped. "You know exactly what shape you're in. Your water broke and you're dilating. How long do you think you can hold out?"
"Are you threatening me?" I shot back.
"I'm just telling it like it is," Eric said, his words cutting. "If you don't sign, I won't sign the surgical consent. It's your call."
Emily lost it.
"Eric, do you hear yourself? You won't sign the consent? You want your wife and your kid to die in there?"
He ignored Emily completely, his eyes locked on me.
I stared at him. Three years of marriage, and I had never seen this face on him.
The Eric who used to bring me an umbrella, buy me cake, and say sweet things was now using my life and our baby's as a bargaining chip.
"My parents paid 270 thousand dollars toward that place," I said, holding his eyes.
"The deed is in my name," he shot back.
"I gave you 100 thousand dollars to start your company," I said.
"That was a loan, not an investment," he replied, quick and cold.
"I was still at the office eight months pregnant, and every dollar I earned went to your mother," I said.
"That was for the household, not your investment," he said, not missing a beat.
He answered without a flicker of guilt, and I let out a thin, breathless laugh.
"Eric, let me ask you one last thing. If I start bleeding out right now, will you sign the surgical consent?"
His mouth twitched. "Don't start with that."
"Answer me," I said, steady and unflinching.
He went silent.
Emily's eyes filled and she squeezed my hand, her voice shaking. "Sarah, stop wasting your breath on him. I'm getting the doctor."
"No." I stopped her.
Eric's face was grim and his knuckles were white around the waiver. He was betting that I wouldn't gamble with the baby's life.
The delivery room door slammed open, the midwife rushing in, panic written all over her face.
"Sir, the baby's heart rate is dropping and the fluid is heavily stained. We need an emergency C-section right now. Where's the consent form? A family member has to sign."
Bianca grabbed Eric's arm in a panic. "Eric."
Eric didn't move. He turned to the midwife with a worried face and a catch in his voice.
"Nurse, I'm sorry. My wife has some prenatal depression, and her moods have been unstable.
"She insists on sorting things out before she'll go in. I've been trying to talk her into it for ages."
The midwife looked at me. I tried to speak, but a contraction hit, and I doubled over, clutching the sheets, dizzy from the pain.
"Listen to me," the midwife said, rushing over. "The baby's in trouble.
"Whatever you're thinking, get into the OR first. Saving you and the baby comes first. Everything else can wait until after, okay?"
She thought I was just making a fuss. Eric stood by, looking worn out.
The midwife pressed Eric. "Sir, sign it now. We can't wait any longer."
Eric took the pen and didn't sign, and he watched me calmly. The message was clear. I signed first, and then he would.
"Nurse," he rasped, "give me two minutes alone with her. Two minutes, and I promise she'll cooperate."
The midwife hesitated and stepped out. Bianca got up, went to the door, and pushed Emily back into the room.
"You stand right there," Bianca warned her. "So nobody can say later that this family bullied her."
Bianca shut the door behind her. Then it was only the three of us.
Eric pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his eyes dry. He dragged a chair to the bedside, sat down, and crossed his legs.
"Are you done making a scene?" he said, flat and emotionless.