Chapter 2
I pushed the door open.
The door slammed against the wall with a heavy thud.
Joanna's hand trembled, and the phone dropped onto the desk.
She pressed a hand to her chest, her eyes going watery.
Joanna said, "Charlie, why are you here? I was just checking Andy's messages for him. He's in surgery, and I didn't want him to miss anything important."
I walked over and picked up the phone.
The chat window still showed those two icy, cutting messages.
They were sent ten minutes ago.
I looked up at her.
"Did you send these?" I asked.
Joanna bit her lip, tears clinging to her lashes.
Joanna said, "Charlie, please don't take it the wrong way. I just didn't want you to keep hesitating. If the baby really has a serious defect, you'll be the one who has to go through all the pain."
Linda slammed her hand on the table and stood up.
Linda snapped, "Jo's just trying to help you, so why are you acting like this? Do you think being pregnant gives you a free pass? Andrew's a doctor, not your personal servant."
I raised my hand and slammed the phone down on the desk.
"She's not a doctor. Who does she think she is, making decisions for my husband?" I snapped.
Joanna reached for my arm, trying to steady me.
"Charlie, please sit down. You're so pregnant, don't upset the baby," she pleaded.
I jerked away from her.
She used the momentum to fall backward, bumping into the bookshelf, and a stack of files tumbled to the floor.
Linda shrieked and lunged at me.
"How dare you hit my daughter!" she screamed.
Before I could react, her hand was already pushing against my shoulder.
My lower back slammed into the corner of the desk, and my belly hit the chair back hard.
A sharp, crushing pain exploded in my abdomen. I grabbed the edge of the desk, my nails digging into the wood grain.
Joanna's tears froze on her cheeks, her pupils tightening for a split second.
Linda was stunned, too.
I looked down and saw a dark red stain spreading beneath my skirt.
It was warm.
And sticky.
It trickled down my leg.
I opened my mouth, my voice coming out as a strained whisper.
"Get a doctor," I managed to say.
No one moved.
Linda took a step back.
"Quit faking it. I just gave you a little push," Linda snapped.
I gripped the table, dragging myself toward the door, blood splattering the tiles, drop by drop.
Someone at the nurse's station caught sight of me and let out a scream.
"Pregnant woman bleeding! Call OB, now!" someone at the nurse's station screamed.
At the end of the hallway, the operating room door burst open.
Andrew came rushing out in his scrubs, mask hanging loose around his chin, sweat beading on his forehead.
When he saw the blood pooling at my feet, his face went pale.
"Charlotte!" he shouted.
I watched him run toward me, my hand instinctively reaching out. Then I remembered the 170 dollars for the surgery, and my fingers froze in midair.
Joanna, tears streaming down her face, stepped in front of him.
"Andy, it's my fault. I didn't hold Charlie back. She just got too emotional," Joanna sobbed.
Andrew only hesitated for a heartbeat.
And in that heartbeat, I saw it, he didn't look at me first. His eyes went straight to Joanna's hand, fixated on the red scratch left by the falling files.
His voice was gentle, almost soothing.
He said softly to her, "Don't cry."
The pain in my belly was so sharp that my vision went black. A bitter, broken laugh bubbled up from my chest, so faint I could barely hear it myself.
The nurses rushed over with a stretcher. As they were lifting me onto it, I clung desperately to Andrew's sleeve.
"Andrew, if the baby dies, remember this, your family and the Reeds will have killed it together," I said.
He went rigid, his lips parting like he wanted to say something.
"Let's focus on emergency care first. Don't talk like that," he said.
The stretcher was rushed into the elevator. Just before the doors slid shut, I saw Joanna hiding behind him, her fingers clutching his shirt like her life depended on it.
There were no tears in her eyes.
Nothing but fear.
The harsh lights in the maternity ER were so bright I could barely keep my eyes open. The bed wheels rattled urgently across the floor as they rushed me in.
A nurse cut open my dress, and a cold ultrasound probe pressed against my stomach.
I gripped the sheets, my knuckles turning white.
The doctor stared at the screen, his brows knitting tighter and tighter.
"The fetal heartbeat is very slow, and the bleeding is getting worse. I think it's a placental abruption. Get the attending doctor in here, now," he said.
Placental abruption.
I understood what that meant.
At twenty-four weeks pregnant, after being hit in the stomach, the baby might not make it, and I could bleed out.