Chapter 5

Estelle’s POV

Six weeks later.

The labor had gone on for hours and hours. I screamed like an animal, the sound ripping out of my throat, and pushed until I thought I might pass out.

“The girl is crowning,” someone said urgently. “Almost there, keep going—”

Then suddenly there was crying, a baby’s wail cutting through the chaos, and I collapsed back against the pillows gasping for air.

“We’ve got the girl, but the boy—doctor, his heart rate is dropping—” the nurse announced, but her voice sounded muffled and far away.

Everything felt fuzzy after that. I heard shouting, people moving fast. I tried to keep my eyes open but they kept sliding shut on their own, the exhaustion pulling me down into darkness.

When I woke up, the room was quiet.

I sat up too fast and the room spun sickeningly. A doctor I didn’t recognize was standing at the foot of my bed, his hands clasped in front of him.

“Miss Estelle,” he said heavily. “I need to speak with you about your son.”

My mouth went dry. “Where is he? Can I see him?”

The doctor shook his head slowly. “I’m very sorry, but your son didn’t survive the delivery. He suffered severe asphyxia and developed neonatal pneumonia from inhaling contaminated amniotic fluid. We did everything we could, but—”

The rest of his words turned into white noise. I couldn’t hear them over the roaring in my ears, couldn’t hear anything except my own breathing getting faster and faster.

“No,” I whispered, then louder, “No, that’s not—you’re wrong, you have to be wrong.”

“I understand this is devastating news.”

“I want to see him,” I interrupted frantically, already trying to get out of bed even though my legs wouldn’t support me properly, and wouldn't hold my weight. “I need to see my baby, I need to hold him.”

The doctor moved forward and caught my arm, steadying me. “Miss Estelle, I can’t allow that.”

“What?” I stared at him wildly, trying to pull away. “What do you mean you can’t allow it? He’s my son!”

“Because of the severe intrauterine infection, the body must be immediately isolated and processed according to strict hospital infection control regulations,” he explained calmly, like he was reciting from a textbook. “No one is permitted to have contact with or view the remains. I’m very sorry, but it’s hospital policy.”

“I don’t care about your policy!” I said shrilly. Tears were streaming down my face now and I couldn’t stop them. “That’s my baby, my son, please—I just want to see him one more time, please, I’m begging you—”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated firmly. “It’s not possible.”

He left the room before I could say anything else. I sat there on the edge of the bed, shaking violently, and the sobs finally came. They tore out of me in huge gasping waves that hurt my ribs, that made it impossible to breathe, and I doubled over with the force of them.

My son. My baby boy. I’d never even gotten to hold him, to see his face, to tell him I loved him.

The door opened again and I looked up desperately, hoping the doctor had changed his mind.

It was Daisy.

She took one look at me and rushed over, wrapping her arms around me without saying a word. I collapsed against her and cried until there was nothing left, until my throat was raw and my eyes were swollen shut and I was just making awful gasping sounds instead of actually crying.

She stayed, holding me while I fell apart.

They brought me my daughter—Chloe, I named her Chloe—and I held her constantly, terrified that if I put her down she’d disappear too. She was so small, so perfect, with dark hair and Harrison’s nose. Every time I looked at her I thought about her brother, about the twin she’d never know.

Daisy practically lived in my hospital room, bringing me food I couldn’t eat and talking about nothing just to fill the silence. She never asked me how I was doing, which I appreciated. The answer was obvious.

On the fourth day, a nurse brought me my mail. Most of it was bills and junk, but one envelope was thick and official-looking.

I opened it with one hand, Chloe sleeping against my chest with the other.

It was an acceptance letter from Vienna Institute of Auditory Sciences, for their advanced program in Auditory Neuroscience. I’d applied months ago, back when I’d still been married and hopeful about the future. I’d completely forgotten about it.

“Congratulations,” Daisy read over my shoulder tiredly. “That’s amazing, Estelle.”

I looked down at Chloe’s tiny sleeping face, her little fists curled up near her cheeks.

“When are you discharged?” Daisy asked quietly.

“Tomorrow,” I whispered hoarsely.

She nodded slowly, understandingly. “So what are you going to do?”

I pressed my lips to Chloe’s forehead, breathing in that new-baby smell.

“I’m leaving,” I said quietly but surely. “As soon as I’m cleared to travel, I’m taking Chloe and getting out of here. Going to Austria for the program. I can’t stay in this country anymore, Daisy. There’s nothing left for me here.”

“What about Harrison?” she asked carefully.

I laughed bitterly. “ He hasn’t reached out once since the divorce. He made it very clear he doesn’t want me. He thinks I cheated on him, remember? And now…” My voice broke. “Now I’ve lost his son anyway, so what does it even matter?”

Daisy squeezed my hand but didn’t argue, just sat there with me in the silence.

I looked out the hospital window at the city, then back down at my daughter.

This was my life now. Just me and Chloe. We’d go somewhere new, somewhere I could study and build a career and give her the life she deserved. Somewhere Harrison would never find us.

“Start looking at flights,” I told Daisy firmly. “I want to leave as soon as possible.”