ログインWAYNEWayne did not sleep that night.He stayed at the hospital until the early hours of the morning, moving between Alice’s room and the NICU whenever the nurses allowed him to. There was nothing he could do for her except wait, and Wayne had never been good at waiting. He preferred problems that could be solved, situations that responded to action, things he could control with a phone call or a decision.This was different.Alice lay unconscious, surrounded by machines that monitored every fragile rhythm of her body. Their son was in another part of the hospital, fighting his own battle inside an incubator. Wayne had never imagined that one night could change everything so completely.By morning, he finally forced himself to leave.Not because he wanted to.Because he had something to prepare for.The drive back to the estate felt strangely quiet. The house had always been large, but until that morning, Wayne had never thought of its size as a problem. He had lived there comfortably
WayneThe doors closed in front of him.Wayne stood there for several seconds without moving, staring at the place where Alice had disappeared from view. The last thing he could hear was the frantic movement inside the room, the hurried voices of the medical team, and the alarms that had seemed to grow louder just before the doors shut.He clenched his fists.He had never felt so useless.A nurse passed him without looking up, carrying equipment toward the room. Another hurried in behind her. Wayne wanted to follow, but he knew he couldn’t. Dr. Bennett had made it clear that they needed space to work.So he stood there.Waiting.His mind kept replaying the same moment.Alice reaching for him.Alice asking him to promise.Alice saying she loved her baby.Then her eyes had closed.“Mr. Wayne?”He turned.A nurse was standing a short distance away.“Yes?”“The baby has been transferred to the NICU.”Wayne’s eyes immediately moved toward the corridor.“Is he okay?”“He is receiving care.”
AliceI had never been so afraid in my life.The room seemed to move around me as the medical team prepared for the emergency delivery. Nurses came and went, equipment was brought closer, and voices overlapped in a blur that I couldn’t completely understand. I could hear Dr. Bennett giving instructions, calm and precise despite the urgency around her.All I could think about was my baby.“Please,” I whispered.Dr. Bennett leaned closer.“What do you need, Alice?”“My baby.”“We’re going to do everything we can.”I shook my head weakly.“No. I mean… I want to know that he’s okay.”The words surprised even me.He’s.Somewhere in the chaos, I had finally said it aloud.My baby was a boy.I had known it somehow.Maybe it was nothing more than instinct, but I had imagined a little boy so many times that the thought of meeting a daughter had never quite felt right.Dr. Bennett gave me a reassuring look.“We’ll take care of him.”I wanted to believe her.The medication began to take effect,
AliceBy the time I reached eight months, I had stopped pretending that my body was getting better. There were still occasional mornings when I woke up feeling almost normal, but they never lasted long enough for me to trust them. The slightest movement could leave me breathless, and the fainting spells had become unpredictable. Some days I could sit up and talk for a while; other days, even turning in bed made my heart race.Most of the time, I stayed beneath the blankets with one hand resting over my stomach. I had become quieter without really meaning to. There was simply less energy for conversation, and I had learned that I didn’t need to fill every silence. The hospital room had become familiar enough that I could recognize the sounds around me without looking. I knew the footsteps of some of the nurses, the particular rhythm of the machines beside my bed, and even the time of day from the light coming through the window.Eight months.Whenever I thought about it, I felt a stran
ALICEThe good days became shorter.That was the first thing I noticed.Before, I could have several good days in a row before my body reminded me that something was wrong. Now, a good day could disappear before I had even finished enjoying it.One morning, I woke up feeling almost normal.Almost.The sunlight coming through the window was soft, and for a few minutes, I simply lay there with my eyes closed, listening to the quiet beeping beside me.I wasn’t struggling to breathe.My chest didn’t feel tight.My head wasn’t spinning.I smiled.“Good morning.”The baby moved.I placed my hand over my stomach.“Good morning to you too.”I wanted to remember mornings like this.I wanted to believe they meant something.Later that day, I managed to sit by the window for nearly an hour. Wayne brought my iPad, and I worked on my game while he sat across the room pretending not to watch me.“You know,” I said without looking up, “staring at me isn’t going to make me healthier.”“I’m not starin
ALICEFor the next two weeks, I became dangerously optimistic.Not the reckless kind of optimistic where I convinced myself I was suddenly cured and could run a marathon. I wasn’t that delusional. I still took my medication exactly when I was supposed to, still allowed the nurses to check my vitals, still endured Dr. Bennett’s endless reminders about rest, and still understood that my heart and lungs were working harder than they should.But I started believing there might actually be a chance.A real one.My breathing improved enough that I no longer woke every few hours struggling for air. The tightness in my chest wasn’t completely gone, but it came less often. I could sit up for longer without feeling as though I had just run several miles, and the dizziness that had become my unwanted companion seemed to be losing interest in me.Even my appetite returned.Wayne took that as a personal victory.“You finished everything.”I looked down at the empty plate in front of me.“I was hun







