Chapter 4 - Twenty-Nine Weeks
I remember the ambulance lights more clearly than the pain.
Red.
White.
Red.
White.
Edward rode with me because Maya was across town in court and there was nobody else close enough.
He sat near my feet, staying out of the medical team’s way.
“Don’t let them come yet,” I whispered.
He looked at me.
“I don’t think either of us gets a vote.”
“I’m not ready.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No.”
“You don’t need to feel ready.”
That was the last thing I remember before the hospital became noise.
Dr. Harris met us.
Steroids.
Magnesium.
Monitors.
Three heart rates.
Contractions every three minutes.
They managed to slow labor for sixteen hours.
Sixteen precious hours.
Then Baby B’s heart rate dropped.
The room changed instantly.
Dr. Harris looked at me.
“We need to deliver.”
I cried.
“Will they live?”
His expression stayed honest.
“They have a strong chance.”
Not certainty.
Chance.
I signed.
My hand shook so badly the signature looked nothing like mine.
Someone called Cole.
I did not.
The hospital did because he was legally the father.
He arrived twenty minutes after they took me into surgery.
I learned that later.
What I remember is Edward standing outside the operating room.
He wasn’t permitted inside.
He held my hand until the doors closed.
“You’ll be there?”
“Yes.”
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
The spinal anesthesia numbed my body.
Then pressure.
Voices.
And suddenly—
A cry.
Small.
Angry.
Beautiful.
“Baby A, girl!”
I sobbed.
Another minute.
“Baby B, boy!”
Then longer.
Too long.
“What’s happening?”
Nobody answered.
“What’s happening?”
Dr. Harris spoke calmly.
“Working on Baby C.”
Silence.
Then a tiny cry.
“Baby C, girl.”
I broke.
Three babies.
Alive.
Isla.
Noah.
Sophie.
Two pounds eleven ounces.
Three pounds one ounce.
Two pounds eight ounces.
They showed them to me only briefly before NICU teams carried them away.
Tiny faces beneath hats.
Tubes.
Wires.
My children.
When I woke fully, Maya sat beside me.
Edward stood by the window.
Cole sat in the corner.
I stared at him.
He looked wrecked.
Not polished.
Not CEO.
Father.
“They’re alive?” I asked.
Cole nodded.
“All three.”
His voice broke.
I had never heard that sound from him.
He stood.
“I saw them.”
Anger returned immediately.
“You saw them before me?”
He froze.
Maya said, “Lily—”
“No.”
I looked at Cole.
“You questioned whether they were yours.”
His face collapsed.
“I know.”
“You delayed nothing, but your family did.”
“I didn’t know about the insurance.”
“You never know anything that hurts me.”
He looked down.
“Sloan is downstairs.”
That sentence stunned me.
“Why?”
“She came with me.”
“Get her out.”
“Lily—”
“Get her out of this hospital.”
Edward stepped forward slightly.
Not threatening.
Present.
Cole noticed him.
His jaw tightened.
“This is family.”
Edward’s expression did not change.
Lily from six months earlier might have shrunk.
I did not.
“Edward stayed while your children were being born.”
Cole looked at me.
“That doesn’t make him family.”
“No.”
I breathed slowly.
“Showing up did.”
Cole left.
Sloan was removed from the maternity floor.
The next forty-eight hours became NICU time.
Minutes mattered.
Oxygen saturation.
Feed tolerance.
Weight.
Breathing episodes.
Isla needed CPAP.
Noah developed jaundice.
Sophie had repeated apnea spells.
I stood beside three incubators feeling helpless.
Then Cole appeared alone.
He washed his hands.
Put on the gown.
Stood beside Noah.
For ten minutes, he said nothing.
Then:
“He has my chin.”
I almost laughed.
“He has no chin. He weighs three pounds.”
Cole smiled weakly.
It was the first normal moment we had shared in months.
Then Sloan ruined it.
Not by appearing.
By posting.
A photo of Cole entering the hospital.
Caption:
Some chapters require grace.
Commenters assumed she was supporting him through the birth of “his ex-wife’s babies.”
My babies became content.
I called Cole.
“Tell her to stop posting about the hospital.”
“I’ll talk to her.”
“Not talk. Stop.”
“She didn’t mention you.”
“She doesn’t need to.”
Cole rubbed his face.
“She’s under pressure too.”
I stared.
“Leave.”
“Lily.”
“Go comfort your wife.”
He left.
Three days later, Sloan came anyway.
She walked into the NICU waiting area wearing sunglasses and carrying flowers.
I stood before she reached the doors.
“You’re not going in.”
She smiled.
“Cole invited me.”
“No.”
“He’s their father.”
“And I’m their mother.”
Her smile tightened.
“You really enjoy making everything difficult.”
I laughed.
“That’s what you think this is?”
“You’ve made Cole miserable for months.”
Something snapped.
Not violently.
Clearly.
“You married my husband one week after my divorce.”
“He had already left emotionally.”
“You interfered with my health coverage?”
Her eyes flickered.
There.
I saw it.
“You did.”
“I didn’t control your insurance.”
“But you knew.”
Sloan stepped closer.
“You were never right for his life.”
“And you are?”
“Yes.”
She said it without hesitation.
Then she whispered:
“I can give him the kind of family he actually wants.”
I looked at the NICU doors.
Three tiny premature babies behind them.
Then back at her.
“You should leave.”
Sloan grabbed my arm.
“You don’t scare me.”
I pulled free.
A nurse rushed over.
“Ma’am.”
Sloan reached again.
This time I shoved her hand away harder.
She stumbled into a chair.
Flowers fell.
Cole appeared from the elevator.
“What happened?”
Sloan immediately cried.
“She attacked me.”
I laughed.
Of course.
Cole looked at me.
Then at the security camera above us.
A hospital officer approached.
“We’ll review footage.”
Sloan went pale.
Ten minutes later, the footage showed everything.
She left voluntarily before security escorted her.
Cole stayed.
He stared at the floor.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“All of it.”
I looked at him.
“You don’t get to say ‘all of it’ because listing it would take too long.”
He flinched.
Good.
Then one of the NICU nurses ran toward us.
“Ms. Mercer?”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“It’s Sophie.”
May you like
The world narrowed to one tiny baby.
And suddenly none of the adults mattered anymore.
