“I know. But if we don’t deliver soon, we risk losing both of you.” Dr. Chen moves closer, her brown eyes kind but serious. “I need to be very clear about something. Given the complications, given the placental abruption and the baby’s premature status, there’s a possibility we may have to make a choice.”
The words hang in the air, heavy and terrible.
“What kind of choice?” Mikhail’s voice is deadly quiet.
Dr. Chen looks between us, and I see the weight of what she’s about to say in her expression. “If complications arise during delivery, if we can’t save both of you, we need to know your wishes. Do we prioritize the mother or the baby?”
The question steals the air from my lungs.
I look at Mikhail, see the horror in his eyes, the absolute refusal to accept this reality.
Then I look at Tony, who’s gone pale, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
“There has to be another option,” Mikhail says, his voice rising. “There has to be a way to save them both.”
“We’ll do everything in our power,” Dr. Chen assures him. “But I need to know, if it comes down to it, what do you want us to do?”
I already know my answer.
I made Mikhail promise earlier, made him swear he’d save our baby if it came to that.
But looking at his face now, seeing the devastation there, I realize what I’m asking of him.
I’m asking him to choose between us.
And there’s no right answer.
50
MIKHAIL
“Save the baby.”
Sophia’s words echo in my mind as they wheel her toward the operating room, and I want to rage at the universe for putting us in this position.
How can she ask me to choose?
How can she expect me to live in a world where she doesn’t exist?
“Mr. Artyomov, you need to wait here.” A nurse blocks my path as the double doors swing shut, separating me from my wife.
“No.” The word comes out as a growl. “I need to be with her.”
“Sir, please.” The nurse’s voice is firm but not unkind. “The surgical team needs space to work. You’ll be able to see her as soon as the procedure is complete.”
Tony’s hand lands on my shoulder, and I realize I’ve been moving forward, ready to shove past anyone who standsbetween me and Sophia. “Come on,” he says quietly. “Let them do their job.”
I let him guide me to the waiting area, but every cell in my body screams to go back.
To be with her.
To make sure she knows I’m there, that I’m not leaving her alone in this.
The waiting room is too bright, too sterile, too full of other people’s anxiety mixing with my own.
I can’t sit, can’t stand still.
I pace the length of the room, my boots wearing a path in the linoleum, my hands clenched into fists at my sides.
