“Mom, you stay home and look after Dad. I’ll go to the hospital.”
Baillie hurried after the EMTs, climbing into the ambulance as they rushed Emma to the ER.
Truth be told, he almost wished for a traffic jam, something to slow them down. If Emma died on the way, that would be just fine by him.
A fall, a pregnancy, massive blood loss – if she died before they got to the hospital, there wouldn’t be much the police could do to him.
At the hospital, they’d barely wheeled Emma into the operating room when the doctor came out. “The fetus doesn’t have a heartbeat. We need to perform a procedure, fast. Where are her family members? We need consent.”
“I’m her brother,” Baillie said. “Can I sign?”
“Her brother? Normally, no. It has to be a direct relative – parent or spouse.” The doctor frowned, then added, “Where’s the father? She’s pregnant; the baby must have a father.”
Baillie improvised, “The father’s very sick – he’s bedridden. Can’t come.”
In truth, he had no idea what was going on with Sheridan Carter, but he wasn't about to waste time worrying about that.
While he hesitated, a nurse burst out, frantic. “Her blood pressure’s dropping fast. If we don’t operate right now, she won’t make it!”
Baillie stayed silent. Whether Emma lived or died, it wasn’t his problem.
But the doctor had a duty. “Fine. You sign first, then notify the rest of the family. We’ll do everything we can.”
“Thank you, doctor.” Baillie scrawled his name on the consent form. The medical team rushed back in and started the surgery.
Baillie couldn’t help feeling a flicker of doubt.
Everyone knew the father of Emma’s child was a mystery, but as long as she was still officially Sheridan’s fiancée, the law – and public opinion – would see the baby as his.
After a moment’s hesitation, Baillie managed to get through to the Carter family and told them what happened.
They already loathed Emma. On hearing the news, they just spat out, “Good riddance!” and hung up.
Whether they’d bother telling Sheridan, Baillie didn’t know.
Not long after, the medical staff rushed out again. “Her condition’s critical. The bleeding won’t stop and there’s a serious infection. If things get worse, we may have to remove her uterus. We need another signature.”
Baillie didn’t hesitate – he grabbed the pen and signed.
This time, the nurse was startled. She quickly pulled the form away and stared at him. “Shouldn’t you talk to your brother-in-law first? If we take her uterus, she’ll never have children again.”
Baillie shrugged, “They’re both HIV positive. Having kids would only cause more pain.”
The nurse was speechless.
Baillie snatched back the consent form and scribbled his signature.
The nurse glared at him. “Did your sister take something she shouldn’t have during her pregnancy? The placenta’s grown right into the uterine wall. No wonder she’s bleeding like this. You people are reckless!”
Baillie knew nothing about pregnancies. He hadn’t even realized Emma had been taking medication to keep the baby.
He didn’t know that, desperate not to lose the child, Emma had secretly bought drugs online – anything to help the placenta take root.
The nurse disappeared back inside. Just then, Baillie’s phone rang – his mother, Rosetta.
“Mom…”
“What’s happening? Is the baby going to make it?” Rosetta’s voice trembled on the line.
“She got to the hospital, but the fetus was already gone,” Baillie said. “Now the doctors say they might not be able to save her uterus, either.”
Rosetta let out a stunned gasp, lost for words.
After hanging up, Baillie glanced at his phone, thinking about everything going on at home. He didn’t have a second to spare – he immediately tried calling Ivy.
No answer.
Panicked, he snapped a photo of the glowing “Emergency” sign and sent it to Ivy in a text.