Instinctively, I clutched at James's sleeve, my voice weak and trembling. "Help me... my stomach hurts so much..."
But James's face remained cold. "Stop pretending. In my past life, you gave birth to our son just fine. Nothing's going to happen this time either."
The pain was so intense I couldn't form words. Perhaps my expression was too agonized to ignore—James seemed half-convinced and moved to help me up.
But Delia grabbed his arm. "James, let me take a look. I've been through childbirth before. I have experience."
She pushed Charlie into James's arms. He seemed about to say something, but the boy's whimpering cut him off. James cradled the child carefully, patting his back as he drifted toward the window, murmuring soft reassurances.
Delia approached me and slowly pulled back the covers. Her eyes widened in what looked like surprise.
Bright red blood was seeping from between my legs, soaking through my nightgown.
She smiled. "Oh my, there's nothing wrong at all! Linda, you're being so dramatic."
James's expression turned icy.
"Linda, I knew you were faking it!"
Delia gave him a coy smile. "Wives are meant to be pampered, aren't they? If she's this delicate, you'll just have to spoil her a little more."
"If she can't handle this much pain, imagine what childbirth will be like. You'd better book her an epidural in advance."
Then her face shifted to something pitiful. "Though I heard epidurals and C-sections can affect the baby. For Charlie's sake, I just gritted my teeth and pushed through."
James scoffed. "She's not getting an epidural. My son will be well-behaved. She'll deliver naturally without any of that."
Pride dripped from every word. A flash of jealousy flickered through Delia's eyes.
By then, my consciousness was fading. In the last moment before everything went dark, I saw Delia pulling him toward the door.
Despair, endless and absolute, crashed over me.
When I woke again, the sharp smell of disinfectant filled my nostrils.
A wave of pain tore through my lower body. I groaned involuntarily—and someone gripped my hand tight.
"Linda!!"
Mom. Dad.
My mother's usually immaculate hair was disheveled, her eyes swollen and red. When she saw me awake, her voice broke. "Linda, it's okay. It's going to be okay..."
It took me a moment to register where I was—lying on a gurney being rushed toward the operating room.
"Doctor, the patient is hemorrhaging!"
"We may not be able to save the baby. Where's her husband? We need his signature for the procedure."
"She's my daughter—I can sign! Doctor, please, you have to save her—"
"Hospital policy requires the patient's husband for emergency procedures of this nature. It may affect her future fertility."
The doctor's urgent commands, my mother's pleas, my father's furious voice—all tangled together in chaos.
I lay there gasping, fighting wave after wave of agony. Then I heard my father on the phone with James.
"James Stevens! Get to this hospital. Now!"
The voice on the other end sounded surprised. "Dad? Is Linda throwing another fit about going to the hospital? Ever since she got pregnant, she's been paranoid, always convinced something's wrong with the baby."
"It's just pregnancy. A friend of mine was unclogging toilets, changing lightbulbs, and hauling packages when she was months along."
"Linda is just too delicate."
Each word was an accusation. My father's rage finally boiled over. His voice came out through gritted teeth: "If you don't get here right now, the Hayward family will never let this go."
James had built his company himself, but many of his connections had come through my father. There was a hesitation on the other end of the line.
