Chapter 3 - TWO HEARTBEATS
I woke up believing I had lost one of my children.
There was no reason for it.
No doctor had told me.
No nurse had whispered it.
I just knew fear before I knew where I was.
My eyes opened.
White ceiling.
Hospital room.
Dry mouth.
Pain.
Then panic.
“The babies.”
A nurse moved beside me.
“Rachel?”
“The babies.”
“They’re alive.”
I stopped breathing.
“Both?”
“Both.”
The word broke me.
I cried so suddenly that the nurse reached for tissues and then seemed to realize tissues were completely useless.
“They’re both alive?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
I pressed my hands over my face.
My whole body shook.
“Baby A is a girl,” the nurse said gently.
“Five pounds, eleven ounces.”
I laughed through tears.
“A girl.”
“And Baby B is a boy. Four pounds, nine ounces.”
“Is he okay?”
“He’s in the NICU.”
My joy collapsed into fear.
“Why?”
“He had respiratory distress and a low heart rate during delivery.”
“Can I see him?”
“When the doctor clears you.”
“What about my daughter?”
“She’s doing well.”
I turned my head.
A clear bassinet stood beside the window.
For a second I couldn’t understand what I was looking at.
Then I saw her.
Tiny face.
Dark hair.
Pink cap.
My daughter.
I made a sound I had never made before.
A nurse lifted her carefully.
“Want to meet someone?”
I held out my arms.
She placed my baby against my chest.
Everything disappeared.
The mall.
Deborah.
Travis.
The fear.
All of it.
My daughter opened one eye.
Just one.
Like she was suspicious of me already.
“Hi,” I whispered.
“I’m sorry your family is insane.”
The nurse laughed softly.
I kissed her forehead.
“What time is it?”
“Eight forty-seven.”
I looked at the dark window.
I had arrived around four.
“Has my husband been here?”
The nurse hesitated.
That told me.
“He came.”
“When?”
“About thirty minutes ago.”
“And?”
“He became… upset.”
“Upset how?”
Before she could answer, the door opened.
Travis walked in.
His face was pale.
His shirt was wrinkled.
Deborah stood behind him.
Still carrying shopping bags.
I looked at them.
Then at the baby in my arms.
Travis stopped.
“Oh my God.”
I said nothing.
He walked closer.
“Is that…”
“Your daughter.”
His eyes filled instantly.
“Rachel.”
“No.”
He stopped.
I didn’t raise my voice.
“Don’t come closer.”
His face twisted.
“Come on.”
Deborah stepped around him.
“This is ridiculous.”
I looked at her.
She had a large designer shopping bag hanging from one arm.
The sight of it made me feel sick.
“Get out.”
Her mouth dropped open.
“I’m the grandmother.”
“You were the woman who decided a purse mattered more than whether your grandchildren survived.”
“I did not know—”
“I told you.”
“You were being hysterical.”
“I was bleeding on the floor.”
Deborah’s face hardened.
“Well, clearly everything worked out.”
I stared at her.
The nurse near the door went still.
Travis whispered, “Mom.”
“What?”
She gestured toward my daughter.
“The baby is fine.”
“My son is in the NICU.”
Silence.
Deborah blinked.
“What?”
Travis looked at me.
“Son?”
“You have a daughter and a son.”
His mouth opened.
“You didn’t know?”
“No one told me.”
“Maybe because you came into the hospital screaming at the staff that I disobeyed you by calling an ambulance.”
His face went red.
“That’s not what happened.”
The nurse cleared her throat.
Travis looked at her.
She looked right back at him.
“I was at the nurses’ station.”
Travis’s jaw tightened.
I almost smiled.
Then Deborah said, “Rachel, you need to stop punishing everyone.”
I turned to the nurse.
“Can security remove them?”
Travis stared at me.
“You’re serious?”
“Yes.”
“I’m your husband.”
“You left me locked in a house while I was in active labor.”
“I didn’t lock you in.”
“You turned the deadbolt.”
“That’s normal.”
“And told me not to leave.”
“I meant—”
Security entered.
Two officers.
One older woman.
One broad-shouldered man.
The female officer looked at Travis.
“Sir, you need to step outside.”
“This is my wife.”
“She asked you to leave.”
Travis’s face changed.
“You’re really doing this?”
I looked down at my daughter.
“Yes.”
He stood there for three more seconds.
Then he walked out.
Deborah followed, muttering.
Her shopping bag brushed the doorframe.
The room became quiet.
I closed my eyes.
Then my phone buzzed on the bedside table.
Evan had brought a charger.
There were dozens of messages.
Most from Travis.
Some from Deborah.
One from a number I didn’t recognize.
I opened it.
It was a video.
My front door.
My driveway.
Timestamped.
The message beneath it read:
You need to see what your husband did before he left.
May you like
I pressed play.
And thirty seconds later, I understood that Travis had lied about more than the deadbolt.
