At seven months pregnant, my water broke and I required urgent medical intervention. Only my husband, who was the head of the obstetrics department, had the expertise to save the baby.
Although the situation was critical, as long as he came back, there was hope for the child.
But I couldn’t reach Aaron on the phone.
In the end, the baby was delivered via C-section but tragically suffocated to death.
After coming out of the operating room, I saw Yvonne's post on her social media.
“I told Aaron that I’ve been feeling anxious since getting pregnant, so he brought me to the church to pray for blessings!”
The accompanying picture showed Yvonne beaming like a flower, while Aaron stood beside her, solemnly clasping his hands in prayer.
A single tear rolled down my cheek and my heart sank into despair.
She had just gotten pregnant, yet the baby I had carried, fully formed, had died at their hands.
——
“It’s too late. The baby isn’t breathing anymore…”
In an instant, my mind buzzed with a deafening roar.
The partial effect of the anesthesia hadn’t worn off yet. Just moments ago, I could still feel the baby being taken out of my abdomen. How could it be gone now?
“Please, I beg you, save the baby. There must still be hope,” I begged to the doctor
Hearing this, the nurse patted the soles of the baby’s feet again, but there wasn’t a single sound.
I knew what this meant.
My nose felt sore and my eyes were filled with tears.
The doctor took off his mask and looked at me with an expression that seemed reluctant.
“Please accept my condolences. You’ve just undergone a C-section; you absolutely can’t cry. Otherwise, it could trigger amniotic fluid embolism and cause massive bleeding."
A nurse I was familiar with tried to console me. “That’s right. You and Mr. Mild will have more children in the future. Please take care of your health. Hold back your tears and I’ll take you back to your room to rest.”
I forced back my tears, stubbornly lifting my head and using all my strength to grasp the doctor’s sleeve.
“Darren, please, I beg you, save the baby one more time. Please…”
Darren shook his head and sighed. “The only one in our hospital capable of performing respiratory surgery on a premature baby is Aaron. But he’s not here right now. There’s nothing we can do…"
The color drained from my face. At that moment, it felt as though ice-cold water had poured over me from head to toe, leaving my heart frozen to its core.
I withdrew my hand with a trembling fingertips.
I was seven months pregnant and had a caesarean section because of a ruptured amniotic fluid.
At the critical moment, Aaron couldn't be contacted at all. All the text messages and phone calls seemed to fall on deaf ears and Aaron didn't respond.
I comforted myself that he might be busy with a medical meeting. After all, he told me he was going on a business trip when he left home a few days ago.
Until I saw Yvonne's social media updated a few hours ago.
“I told Aaron that I’ve been feeling anxious since getting pregnant, so he brought me to the church to pray for blessings!”
Yvonne in the picture smiled gently and lovely and my husband was beside her, clasping his hands devoutly, praying for her child.
Suddenly, there was a strange sharp pain in my chest, as if a sharp blade cutting into my heart, deep and heavy and splashing blood all the way.
I gasped for breath, but the suffocating feeling refused to subside.
Yvonne was Aaron’s junior from university and his care for her far exceeded the bounds of ordinary friendship.
Whenever I felt unhappy about it, he would always frown and scold me, "You know Yvonne’s husband is a sailor and often away. She’s frequently home alone and now that she’s pregnant, how could I not take extra care of her?"
Even after I became pregnant, he always put Yvonne first in everything and even demanded that I did the same.
There were several times when he woke me up in the middle of the night, just to ask me to arrange for some newly released nutritional supplements from the company for Yvonne.
