Chapter 4
Eric sat with his legs crossed, and his voice went flat. The moment the door closed, the good husband act was gone, and his face went blank.
Emily stood in the corner with her fists clenched. I lay there watching him, and the anger ran hotter than the contractions.
"Eric," I rasped, "I'm not signing."
He cocked his head, eyes narrowed. "What did you just say?"
"I said, I'm not signing. If you want a divorce, fine. We'll split everything by the law. You won't get a single dollar from me."
He stared at me for a few seconds and then laughed, and his face was pure contempt.
"Sarah," he leaned in, "do you even realize what kind of mess you're in right now?"
I stayed silent.
"The surgical consent needs a family member's signature. Your dad isn't here and your mom didn't come. I'm your healthcare proxy."
He enunciated every word, making sure I got it.
"If you don't sign this, I won't sign that. If you think you can push through labor on your own, be my guest."
Emily rushed forward, her voice shaking. "Eric, are you insane? That's your child. You're going to let your own baby die?"
"Shut up," he snapped, ignoring Emily and locking eyes with me. "This is between husband and wife."
He leaned back in the chair with his hands over the armrests.
"And you just said you want a divorce. Have you even thought about what comes after?"
I didn't answer.
"Your dad's got a bad heart, just had a stent put in last year. If something happens to you in here, you think he'll survive it?"
He sounded concerned, and it was another tactic.
"And look at you, making a scene with all the nurses and midwives watching. What do you think they're gonna say?
"Prenatal depression, unstable, refusing to cooperate. After all this, whose name do you think takes the damage?"
My nails dug deep into my palms.
"Eric, you're threatening me," I said.
"I'm helping you think it through," he corrected me. "Sign now, have the baby, and we go on the way we were. Don't sign, and things go a different way."
He paused, letting the threat hang in the air.
"I can't guarantee what happens next."
Emily was shaking with rage and pulled out her phone to call the police. Eric glanced at her.
"Go ahead, call them. What do you think they'll see?
"A pregnant woman with prenatal depression refusing surgery and a husband on the verge of tears from worry. Who do you think they'll believe?"
Emily froze, phone halfway out.
I looked at Eric, and from the next room, a baby started crying. There I was, bargaining for my life with my own husband.
"So," I said, and my voice shook, "I have no choice."
Eric got up, bent down, and wiped my tears away.
"Honey," he said, handing me the pen, "just sign it. Once you do, the pain stops, and we'll be a happy family of three."
He was so sure of himself, convinced I'd never risk my life.
He was right. I couldn't.
I took the pen, and Emily shouted from the side, "Sarah, don't sign it!"
I didn't look at her. I stared straight into Eric's eyes.
Three years ago, when he proposed, those eyes were full of love. Now there was nothing in them but greed.
"I'll sign," I said.
Eric's lips curled into a smug smile.
As my pen touched the paper, he leaned in close and whispered in my ear.
"Oh, honey, one more thing I forgot to mention.
"I picked up your prenatal results last month.
"You have gestational hypertension, which means your risk of amniotic fluid embolism and postpartum hemorrhage is three times higher than normal."
He paused, letting it sink in.
"So last week I bought you a policy. One million dollars in accidental death coverage, and I put myself down as the beneficiary."
He stepped back, locking eyes with me.
"If you live, all of this property is mine. If you don't," he glanced at the waiver and smiled, "that one million dollars is mine too.
"So you see, either way, you never had a choice."