From the floor, all I could see were shoes.
Then Linda’s voice filled the room, calm and controlled.
“Doctor,” she said, “she should be ready now.”
My heart pounded so violently I was sure they could hear it. Dust clung to my palms. I pressed my cheek to the cold tile, barely daring to breathe.
Emily stood beside the bed, rigid and silent.
The man with the silver watch spoke evenly.
“Mrs. Reynolds, the consent forms were already signed. Postpartum outcomes can be unpredictable.”
Linda sighed softly, rehearsed and smooth.
“I understand. It’s tragic. But my son has been under so much stress. Losing his wife would be devastating, though unavoidable.”
Losing his wife.
My stomach twisted violently.
Another nurse entered. I recognized her immediately by her shoes, white with a thin blue stripe. She hesitated.
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