My Anesthesiologist Is My Ex

Synopsis

I was eight months pregnant, and I had kept it completely hidden. I blocked my ex on social media, moved, changed my number, and cut off all contact. Then my water broke, and an ambulance rushed me to the operating room. The anesthesiologist pulled down his mask. It was Henry Carter. He was the father of my baby. The one I had broken up with eight months ago. He looked down at my belly, and his lips moved. I could read it clear as day: he was counting. Eight months. Eight months since the breakup. He raised his head and smiled at me. That smile sent a chill down my spine. I struggled to sit up. "Nurse, I need another doctor. I am allergic to this anesthesiologist." The nurse pressed me back down. "You are eight centimetres dilated. Do not make a scene." It was over. There was nowhere to run, in every sense of the word.