Chapter 2 - The Hospital Waiting Room
The emergency room lights were too bright.
Everything smelled like antiseptic, rain-soaked coats, and coffee that had been sitting too long in paper cups.
A nurse rushed Emily through the double doors while I stood at reception with shaking hands, answering questions I should have known how to answer without thinking.
“How far along is she?”
“Thirty-four weeks.”
“Any previous complications?”
“No. Not until tonight.”
“Did she fall?”
“She almost did.”
“Was she injured?”
I hesitated.
Then I remembered her crying over the sink.
Her swollen feet.
Her trembling body.
The way she said my family called her a freeloader.
“She has been under a lot of stress,” I said. “Too much stress.”
The nurse looked at me carefully.
“Is she safe at home?”
The question hit me harder than I expected.
I wanted to say yes.
I wanted to say that I worked hard to provide a safe home for my wife.
But safety was not only locked doors and paid rent.
Safety was being able to rest while carrying a child.
Safety was not being insulted in your own kitchen.
Safety was knowing the people around you would help when you cried out in pain.
“No,” I said quietly. “Not until tonight.”
The nurse nodded.
“We will make sure she is assessed. You can wait here.”
I sat in the waiting room for nearly an hour.
I called my mother once.
She answered immediately.
“Finally,” she said. “When are you coming back? Your sisters are hungry.”
For a second, I could not speak.
Then I said, “Emily is in the hospital.”
My mother went quiet.
“She’s really at the hospital?”
“Yes.”
“Well, keep us updated. And when you come back, pick up some breakfast food. There’s nothing here.”
Something inside me snapped.
“There is no ‘coming back,’ Mom.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you and the girls need to pack your things.”
Her voice sharpened.
“Ethan, don’t be ridiculous. We are family.”
“No,” I said. “Emily and our son are my family.”
“You would throw your mother out because your wife got tired doing dishes?”
“This is not about dishes.”
“You are letting her manipulate you.”
I looked through the double doors toward the rooms where Emily was being cared for.
“No,” I replied. “I am finally seeing what you did.”
Then I ended the call.
A doctor found me twenty minutes later.
“Mr. Carter?”
I stood immediately.
“How is she? How is the baby?”
“Your wife is stable,” she said. “The baby is stable too. Her contractions have slowed after treatment, but she was dehydrated and severely overtired. She needs rest and close monitoring.”
My knees almost gave out from relief.
“Can I see her?”
“Yes. But she needs calm. No stress.”
I nodded.
May you like
“Then I promise,” I said, “I’ll make sure she gets it.”
---
