Page 98 of One More Chance
The room quieted again, except for the gentle beeping of the monitor and the soft sound of Sloane’s breathing. I stayed still, not daring to move, as if any shift might undo the fragile thread tethering her to peace.
A quiet knock at the door broke through the stillness. I straightened up as a doctor in hunter green scrubs stepped in, clipboard in hand, a plastic face shield over his mask. His eyes, visible above the PPE, were calm but tired. I recalled this weary look from my previous life on the face of every frontline worker.
“Mr. Shaw?” he asked, keeping his voice low.
“Yes. That’s me. And my wife?” I said quickly, standing. My hands were shaking. “Is everything okay?”
He took a step further into the room, glancing at Sloane. “We’ve reviewed the scans and lab work. She has a mild concussion and several bruised ribs, but no internal bleeding. The baby…” He paused, eyes softening,“…the baby is fine. The fetal heartbeat is strong. No signs of placental damage or distress. That’s rare, given the trauma she experienced. She’s lucky.”
The breath I had been holding all came out of me in one ragged exhale. My legs went weak, and I gripped the edge of the bed to steady myself.
“Thank God,” I said with a shaky exhale. I looked over at Sloane again, pale and still but alive, intact, and carrying our child.
Still carrying our child.
The doctor nodded. “She’ll be groggy for a while, but we’ll continue to monitor both of them closely. We’ll want to keep her for observation for at least twenty-four hours. And she’ll need rest. No stress.”
I nodded. “Right. Yes. Whatever she needs.”
He took a step back toward the door. “You can stay, but one visitor only, due to current restrictions. If anyone else tries to enter, they’ll be turned away.”
“No one else is coming,” I said, my voice dark with meaning.
The doctor studied me for a moment, then gave a quiet nod and left the room.
The door clicked softly shut behind him, and I sank back into the chair, this time cradling my face in my hands. Relief pulsed through me and the storm that had been raging inside me felt as if it was finally breaking. She was okay. The baby was okay. For now, that was enough.
Sloane shifted faintly in her sleep, and I leaned forward, brushing her hair back from her face.
“I’ll be right here,” I whispered.
I didn’t know how long I sat there.
The hospital lights dimmed slightly as the evening settled outside the windows, gray and quiet, as if the sky itself was holding its breath. The machines beside Sloane murmured on, steady, rhythmic, cruel in their patience.
Then, the smallest movement. Her fingers twitched.
I jolted upright and leaned closer, unsure if I imagined it. But then her eyelids fluttered, slow and heavy, as if waking cost her more than she had left to give.
“Sloane?” My voice cracked.
Her eyes opened, bloodshot and glazed with confusion. She blinked at the ceiling, then turned her head slightly toward the sound of my voice. Her lips parted, dry and trembling.
“Levi?” she whispered.
A sound left me, part sob, part prayer. I pressed her hand tighter. “I’m here. I’m right here.”
She blinked again, eyes focusing now, face flinching as the pain set in. Her free hand drifted to her stomach, instinctively. I didn’t stop her.
“The baby?” she asked, voice brittle as glass.
“They said everything’s stable,” I said gently. “They’re monitoring. You’re okay. You’re both okay.”
A long silence passed between us, broken only by the quiet hum of the IV pump. And then, her eyes filled, not just with pain, but something else. A terrible, heartbreaking tenderness.
“I thought she was going to kill me,” Sloane said, her voice barely audible. “I looked in her eyes, and there was nothing there. Like she was empty.”
My heart twisted, every muscle in my body screaming for revenge I couldn't act on.
