My Husband Asked For A Hall Pass On My Delivery Date Chapter 03
The Walk
I held onto the bed rail and pulled myself upright, inch by inch.
The incision screamed. Black spots flooded my vision. Cold sweat rolled down my temples.
The husband from the next bed asked again if he could make the trip for me.
I looked at his wife lying beside him and shook my head. “Thank you. But she needs you more.”
I pulled the IV needle out of my hand, pressed a cotton ball hard against the puncture, and eased myself off the bed. The drainage bag dangled at my side as I shuffled toward the payment window.
Every step split the wound open a little more.
A hallway that should’ve taken two minutes took me almost twenty.
At the window, I handed over the money.
The nurse typed something into the computer, then looked up. “Have you decided on a name for the baby? We need it for the registration form.”
I stared at the screen for a long time.
I remembered Ethan resting his hand on my belly, his eyes full of tenderness, saying he wanted to pick the name himself. That it had to be perfect. That he’d been thinking about it for months.
On the newborn registration form,the line for “Name” was blank.
The line for “Father” was blank.
Just like the man who was supposed to be standing outside the delivery room.
Two hours later, a critical condition notice was delivered to my room.
The doctor didn’t soften it. “The baby was deprived of oxygen for too long. There’s a severe lung infection. We’ll do everything we can, but you should prepare for the worst.”
I held the pen.
My fingers shook so badly the signature came out in jagged, broken lines.
This was the second time I’d signed a life-or-death document alone.
Right then, the husband from the next bed walked in carrying a bowl of warm soup, carefully helping his wife sit up against the pillows.
She pouted and said she wasn’t hungry. His voice went soft and gentle. “Come on, just a little. You’re the MVP of this whole family. You need to eat.”
I had never envied anyone so much in my life.
I couldn’t stop myself. I opened my phone again.
Four hours since Ethan left.
His phone was still off. And Sienna had posted again.
The photo showed a cabin with an ocean view. A wooden deck strung with warm fairy lights. At the edge of the frame, a man’s hand, long fingers, sharp knuckles, and on the ring finger, the wedding band I’d picked out for Ethan myself.
The caption read: [Didn’t get to run away together at eighteen. Finally making up for it at thirty.]
Someone commented: [Isn’t Ethan about to be a dad?]
Sienna replied fast, dripping with the kind of smugness that comes from knowing you’re the chosen one: [That’s exactly why he needed to be a boy one last time before becoming a father.]
I leaned back against the headboard.
The IV drip fed cold fluid into my veins, pumping thin, borrowed energy into a body that was already running on nothing.
Footsteps in the hallway. My head snapped up. For one second, I thought it was Ethan.
It was the husband from the next bed.
He stood there holding a thermos, looking uncomfortable and a little helpless. “My wife noticed you haven’t eaten anything. She wanted me to bring you some soup. You should have something in your stomach.”
His wife gave me a small, kind smile from across the room.
My chest caved in. Every cell contracted like it’d been soaked in acid.
I tried to smile back. The muscles in my face wouldn’t cooperate. Whatever expression I made was closer to a grimace.
“Thank you.”
I took the thermos.
The soup was warm. It smelled good. But my eyes burned, and before I could stop them, tears rolled down and dropped into the bowl.
One, then another.
Small, hot splashes that sent tiny ripples across the surface.
Kindness from strangers is a mirror. It shows you exactly how alone you are.
Then the door slammed open.
A nurse rushed in, breathless. “Is the newborn baby’s family member here? The baby’s oxygen levels dropped again!”