Chapter 2: The Heartbeat I Was Afraid to Hear
The ambulance lights painted the walls of my parents’ house in flashing red and white.
I remember staring at them from the stretcher.
Red.
White.
Red.
White.
Like a warning.
Like the world itself was telling me something terrible had happened.
A paramedic leaned over me.
“Sarah, can you hear me?””
I nodded weakly.
“Can you tell me your full name?””
“Sarah Williams.””
“How many weeks pregnant are you?””
“Thirty-two.””
“Any medical history?””
“IVF pregnancy.””
The paramedic looked at the other emergency worker.
His expression changed.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
Enough for me to notice.
“Please,” I whispered.
He looked back at me.
“Please tell me my baby is okay.””
He placed a hand on my shoulder.
“We’re going to do everything we can.””
That was not the answer I wanted.
I wanted certainty.
I wanted someone to look me in the eyes and promise me nothing had changed.
But nobody could.
Because everyone knew.
A fall like that was dangerous.
Especially at eight months pregnant.
Especially after landing on my stomach.
Especially when I couldn’t feel my baby move.
Mark climbed into the ambulance with me.
His clothes were covered with dust from the floor.
His hands were shaking.
I had never seen him look so afraid.
“Sarah,” he whispered.
I turned my head.
“I’m here.””
“Don’t talk like you’re leaving.””
My eyes filled with tears.
“I’m scared.””
He grabbed my hand.
“So am I.””
The ambulance doors closed.
As we drove away, I saw my parents standing outside.
My father looked frozen.
My mother looked angry.
Not worried.
Angry.
I wanted to understand it.
I wanted to believe I was seeing it wrong.
But I wasn’t.
My own mother had watched me bleed and cared more about the party than me.
At the hospital, everything moved quickly.
Nurses rushed me into a room.
Doctors asked questions.
Machines were connected.
Someone cut my dress.
Someone placed a monitor against my stomach.
I stared at the ceiling.
Waiting.
A nurse smiled gently.
“Okay, Sarah. We’re going to listen for the heartbeat.””
My fingers locked around Mark’s.
The room became silent.
The doctor moved the device.
Nothing.
My heart started racing.
“Why can’t we hear it?””
Mark looked at the doctor.
“Doctor?””
The doctor didn’t answer immediately.
He adjusted the monitor.
Again.
Nothing.
I felt like I was falling all over again.
“Please,” I whispered.
“Please don’t do this.””
The nurse touched my arm.
“Stay calm.””
But how could I?
For five years, I had fought for this baby.
I had survived disappointment after disappointment.
I had watched other people announce pregnancies while I secretly cried.
I had endured every injection.
Every procedure.
Every moment of fear.
And now, after finally getting here…
I might lose everything.
The doctor looked toward the door.
“Let’s get an ultrasound.””
Those words terrified me more than anything.
Because if everything was okay, he would have already said so.
The ultrasound room was cold.
Too cold.
I held my breath while the technician moved the wand across my stomach.
The screen appeared.
I couldn’t understand what I was seeing.
I only looked for one thing.
Movement.
The technician stayed quiet.
Too quiet.
“Is something wrong?”” I asked.
She glanced at me.
“I’m going to get the doctor.””
My stomach dropped.
“No.””
Mark leaned forward.
“Please. Tell us something.””
She hesitated.
“There is a heartbeat.””
The room stopped.
A heartbeat.
A heartbeat.
I repeated the words in my mind.
My baby was alive.
A sob escaped my mouth.
Mark covered his face with both hands.
“Thank God.””
But the relief didn’t last.
The doctor entered moments later.
He studied the screen carefully.
“We need to monitor you closely.””
I wiped my tears.
“Why?””
He looked at me.
“The fall caused trauma. Your baby’s heartbeat is present, but there are concerns.””
“What concerns?””
He took a breath.
“There may be complications with the placenta.””
My grip tightened around Mark’s hand.
“What does that mean?””
“It means we need to watch for signs of distress.””
The word stayed in my mind.
Distress.
My baby was fighting.
Because of what happened.
Because of my father.
Because my mother had called me dramatic while I lay bleeding.
Later that night, while I was being monitored, Mark sat beside my bed.
He hadn’t left once.
Not even for coffee.
Not even for a shower.
I looked at him.
“You should call your parents.””
His jaw tightened.
“No.””
“Mark…”
“No.””
His voice was quiet.
“I don’t want to hear excuses.””
I looked away.
“They’re my family.””
He stared at me.
“And I’m yours.””
The words hurt because they were true.
A few minutes later, his phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
His face changed.
“What is it?”” I asked.
He didn’t answer.
“Mark?””
He turned the phone toward me.
It was a message.
From my father.
The text was only one sentence.
*We need to talk before Sarah tells everyone her version of what happened.*
My blood went cold.
Before I could respond, another message appeared.
This time from my mother.
*Your sister is upset. You owe Chloe an apology.*
I stared at the screen.
An apology.
After everything.
Then Mark received one more message.
A message that made his expression turn from anger into disbelief.
Because attached to it was a photo.
A photo taken inside the hospital.
A photo of me on the stretcher.
And underneath it was a caption sent to several family members:
*Sarah had another episode tonight.*
I looked at Mark.
“Another episode?””
Neither of us understood what they were trying to do.
May you like
Until Mark opened the next message.
And saw the name of the person who had sent it.
