“Bleeding?”
“Yes.”
They strapped monitors to my stomach. Someone started an IV. Someone else cut away the lower part of my dress. Daniel was pushed gently to one side while a doctor examined me, and I saw his face go white all over again.
“We need an ultrasound now,” the doctor said.
I lay there shaking, my hair damp against the pillow, my mind caught in one awful loop: Please let her be alive. Please let her be alive. Please let her be alive.
When they rolled the machine in, I watched the screen like it held the entire future.
For a moment there was nothing but static shapes and gray motion that I couldn’t interpret.
Then the technician found the heartbeat.
Fast. Fragile. There.
I burst into tears so hard my whole body shook.
Daniel pressed his forehead to my hand.
The obstetrician’s expression stayed grave. “The baby has a heartbeat, but I’m concerned about placental abruption. Given the trauma, the contractions, the bleeding, and how far along you are, I do not think labor will stop. We may need to deliver tonight.”
Tonight.
