He Forced Me To Abort Now He Begs Me Back Chapter 12
Diane was there, too, seated farther down the hall.
She was clutching a string of prayer beads, her shoulders hunched. Beneath her carefully dyed hair, wide streaks of gray showed at the roots. She looked as if she had aged ten years overnight.
I stood in the elevator doorway.
Behind me was the obstetrics wing. In front of me, the transplant ward. The air reeked of disinfectant, and the red light glowing above the surgical unit at the end of the hall made my eyes sting.
My hand drifted instinctively to my stomach.
Then, something kicked hard against my palm.
Not the tentative flutter from before, not the little fish-tail flick—but a clear, forceful kick.
As if she were telling me she was here.
On one side of the doors, Mason was about to undergo a surgery that would decide if he lived or died.
On the other, my daughter had just answered me for the first time.
Just then, Evan looked up.
He saw me. He saw the prenatal report in my hand. He lurched to his feet so quickly he stumbled, nearly knocking over the chair beside him.
He covered the few feet between us as if it took all the strength he had left.
“Leah.”
His eyes were sunken, his face shadowed with stubble. His voice was so hoarse I could barely hear him.
“Mason’s surgery is tomorrow. I’m so scared.”
Once, that look on his face would have had me rushing to comfort him, to shoulder all his fear for him.
But now, I only looked at him calmly.
“Your son’s life is in the hands of the organ network and his doctors.”
I kept one arm protectively across my belly.
“My child’s life is protected by me.”
Tears instantly welled in Evan’s eyes and spilled down his face.
His lips trembled. He reached for my arm.
I stepped back.
“Don’t touch me.”
His hand froze in midair, then slowly dropped to his side.
Diane watched us from her bench without saying a word.
I didn’t look at either of them again. I turned and stepped back into the elevator.
The doors slid slowly shut.
The red light of the transplant ward, the haggard shell of Evan, and the aged Diane were all sealed away on the other side.
A few days later, my lawyer texted me.
“How did Mason’s surgery go?”
I replied, “I don’t know.”
After a moment, she asked, “And you?”
Beneath my palm, the baby moved gently.
I looked down and smiled.
“We’re doing great.”