“Estimated blood loss?”
“Too high.”
“Prepare transfusion,” Doctor Ricci says firmly.
My stomach drops as a nurse rushes past carrying a dark red bag that makes my vision swim. What should be one of the happiest days of our lives is quickly becoming a living nightmare—and for Zalea, this isn’t the first time. I kiss her temple over and over, like if I stop touching her she’ll slip away.
“You’re okay,” I keep repeating. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”
I don’t know if I’m saying it for her or for me.
“Would you like to see your babies while we stabilize her?” A nurse asks over my shoulder.
Zalea’s grip tightens weakly. “Don’t leave,” she breathes.
“I’m not,” I answer immediately. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The nurse nods and disappears again.
The minutes stretch and feel like hours as Doctor Ricci’s voice remains controlled, but there’s worry in it now. “Come on,” she mutters under her breath. “Contract.”
Zalea lets out a faint whimper and the sound breaks my heart. This is not at all how either of us planned for her labour to go.
“They’re giving you medicine to help your uterus clamp down,” I explain softly, brushing her hair back from her damp forehead. “It’s helping. It’s going to help.”
Her breathing grows shallow.
“Gabriel…” she whispers again.
“I’m here.”
“If I?—”
“Stop,” I say, my voice shaking. “You are not finishing that sentence.”
Tears spill down my face and I don’t even bother to hide them.
“You aren’t leaving me alone with two newborns,” I choke out, squeezing my eyes shut as I hold her hand to my forehead. “You aren’t leaving me after I just got you back.”
A weak huff of air escapes her.
“Pressure’s improving,” a nurse says, and a surge of hope floods through me at those words. “Bleeding is slowing as the uterus responds.”
Doctor Ricci exhales for what feels like the first time in ten minutes. “Good. Keep monitoring.”
I’m so relieved that I think I might pass out, or puke, but I take deep breaths in hopes I do neither.
Zalea’s eyes flutter again. “Are they okay?” she whispers.
“They’re perfect,” I say immediately. “Loudest babies in the building.”
A nurse appears at my side again, this time holding two tightly wrapped bundles.
“Ready, Mom and Dad?”
My breath catches as she lowers the first bundle carefully onto Zalea’s chest. A tiny, red-faced boy with a furious expression and a shock of dark hair plastered to his head.
Then she lowers the second bundle, our baby girl, much calmer than her brother, with her mothers beautiful red hair. Zalea begins to laugh and cry at the same time, tears streaming down her face again as she smiles down at the babies with pure adoration.
