Chapter 2 - THE MAN AT THE DOOR
“Rachel?”
The pounding got louder.
“Rachel, open the door.”
I dragged myself another foot.
“Evan.”
The name barely escaped my throat.
Evan Brooks lived two houses down.
He was a paramedic.
He was also the man Travis had spent the last three years insisting I should stay away from because, according to him, Evan “looked at me too much.”
The truth was less exciting.
Evan had known me since high school.
He had married someone else.
Divorced someone else.
And mostly minded his own business.
Right then, he might as well have been an angel with a battering ram.
“Rachel!”
“I can’t…”
He must have heard something.
The handle rattled.
“Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Where’s Travis?”
“Mall.”
Silence.
“What?”
I let out a broken cry as another contraction hit.
Evan stopped asking questions.
“Back away from the door if you can.”
I tried.
I couldn’t.
There was a crash.
The deadbolt splintered out of the frame.
The door flew inward.
Evan stepped through, took one look at me, and went white.
“Oh, Jesus.”
He dropped beside me.
“You’re in labor.”
“No kidding.”
He almost smiled.
Almost.
Then his eyes dropped to the floor.
His face changed.
“How long ago did your water break?”
“I don’t know.”
“Any bleeding?”
I looked down.
There was blood.
Too much.
Evan’s voice hardened instantly.
“Rachel, stay with me.”
Fear shot through me.
“What is it?”
“Don’t look down.”
“What is it?”
“Stay with me.”
He grabbed his phone.
“Dispatch, this is Brooks, off duty. I need an ambulance at 247 Cedar Lane. Thirty-eight-week twin pregnancy, active labor, significant bleeding.”
He gave the rest in clipped medical language.
I caught words.
Possible abruption.
Fetal distress.
Immediate transport.
I started crying.
“The babies?”
“Hey.”
He gripped my hand.
“Look at me.”
I did.
“You are not dying on this floor.”
His voice was steady.
“Neither are those babies.”
The ambulance arrived in six minutes.
It felt like forty.
They loaded me onto a stretcher.
As they moved me through the broken doorway, I saw Evan staring at the deadbolt.
Then at me.
“Did Travis lock you in?”
I closed my eyes.
“He said not to leave.”
Evan said nothing.
That silence scared me more than anger would have.
Inside the ambulance, everything moved fast.
Blood pressure cuff.
IV.
Oxygen.
Questions.
“When did contractions begin?”
“Maybe an hour ago.”
“Twins’ positions?”
“Baby A was head down. Baby B transverse at the last scan.”
“Any complications?”
“Gestational hypertension.”
The EMT looked toward the driver.
“Call ahead.”
A monitor was strapped across my stomach.
Two heartbeats appeared.
One fast.
One terrifyingly slow.
The paramedic beside me looked up.
“Rachel, we need you to stay calm.”
That sentence told me everything.
“Which baby?”
He didn’t answer.
“Which baby?”
“Baby B is struggling.”
I sobbed.
“No.”
“Stay with me.”
My fingers clawed at the sheet.
I thought about Travis.
I called him from the paramedic’s phone.
Once.
Twice.
He answered the third time.
“What?”
Music played behind him.
Store music.
I heard Deborah laughing.
My entire body went cold.
“Travis.”
“What phone is this?”
“I’m in an ambulance.”
Silence.
Then, “Why?”
I actually thought I had misheard him.
“Why?”
“I told you to wait.”
“Your wife is hemorrhaging,” the paramedic snapped beside me.
Travis went quiet.
Then Deborah’s voice came through.
“Who’s that?”
Travis muffled the phone.
I heard him say, “She called an ambulance.”
Deborah groaned.
“You’re kidding.”
I stared at the ceiling of the ambulance.
Some part of me broke cleanly in two.
“Travis.”
“What?”
“If one of these babies dies…”
He exhaled.
“Rachel, don’t start saying crazy stuff.”
“You left me.”
“I was gone forty minutes.”
“You left me in labor.”
“I didn’t know it was serious.”
“I told you.”
“You’re emotional.”
The paramedic reached for the phone.
I pulled it away.
“Stay at the mall.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“Rachel—”
“Buy the handbag.”
Then I hung up.
The paramedic looked at me.
“Your husband?”
“Technically.”
The ambulance turned sharply.
The hospital came into view.
Doctors were already waiting.
The doors opened.
People shouted.
They rushed me down a bright corridor.
A doctor appeared beside the stretcher.
“Rachel, I’m Dr. Patel.”
She walked fast.
“Baby B’s heart rate is dropping.”
My stomach clenched.
“What do we do?”
“We’re going to the OR.”
“C-section?”
“Yes.”
“Now?”
“Right now.”
They pushed through double doors.
A nurse removed my wedding ring.
She placed it in a clear plastic bag.
“Who should we call?”
I stared at the ring.
Then at her.
“Not my husband.”
She paused.
“Who?”
“Evan Brooks.”
The nurse nodded.
Then a machine began beeping.
Dr. Patel looked toward the monitor.
“Move.”
Everyone started running.
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And the last thing I heard before the doors closed was someone say:
“We’re losing Baby B.”
