Chapter 3 - The Ultimate Betrayal
The front door flew open with a violent bang, and two paramedics carrying heavy orange trauma bags and a collapsible stretcher rushed into the hallway.
The lead paramedic, a stocky man with broad shoulders and a gray-flecked beard named Marcus, took one single look at Nora’s gray complexion and the dark pool spreading across the tile, and his professional composure hardened into steel.
"Female, early thirties, third trimester placental hemorrhage!" Marcus barked to his partner, a young woman named Sarah. "Get a large-bore IV line in her right arm immediately! Normal saline wide open! Check vitals and prep the portable fetal Doppler!"
Sarah dropped to her knees beside me, efficiently wrapping a blood pressure cuff around Nora’s limp arm while ripping open a sterile needle pack. "Blood pressure is dangerously low—seventy-five over forty. Pulse is tachycardic at one-thirty. She’s in severe hypovolemic shock, Marcus. We need to move right now!"
"Is my baby alive?!" I grabbed Marcus’s forearm, my fingernails digging into his tactical vest. "Please! Tell me her heart is still beating!"
Marcus pressed a cold metal probe against the lower curve of Nora’s belly, adjusting a small speaker box. For five agonizing, suffocating seconds, there was only static.
Then, faint, frantic, and rapid: thump-thump-thump-thump-thump.
"Heart rate is one-seventy, but it's erratic," Marcus said grimly. "We’re transferring her to the gurney. Sir, grab her shoes and whatever ID you have. We are running code three to St. Jude’s Regional Trauma Center."
The paramedics lifted Nora’s limp frame onto the stretcher. Nora let out a sharp, choked cry of pain as the straps secured her in place, her hand reaching blindly through the air toward me. I grabbed her fingers, kissing them over and over again as they rolled her down the hallway toward the open door.
Just as the stretcher crossed into the living room, Marla stepped directly in front of the wheels, completely blocking our path.
"Excuse me, ma'am! Move aside!" Marcus shouted, pushing the stretcher forward.
Marla ignored the paramedic entirely. Her eyes locked onto me, and she reached out, grabbing the collar of my flannel shirt with claw-like fingers. Her breath smelled of onion dip and stale coffee.
"Ryan, listen to me for one second," Marla demanded, her voice dropping into a sharp, urgent hiss.
I stared at my mother’s face, my mind struggling to comprehend how a human being could be so completely devoid of empathy. "Let go of me, Mom. We are leaving."
"I need your debit card and your PIN number before you go running off to play hero," Marla whispered aggressively, tugging on my shirt. "The girls and I haven't had a proper dinner. Tessa has to buy supplies for her class tomorrow morning, and we don't have a single dollar in cash. You can't just abandon your family in an empty house with no grocery money while you sit in some waiting room all night!"
The entire universe narrowed to a single, white-hot point of incandescent rage.
My wife was bleeding to death. My unborn daughter was suffocating inside her womb. And my biological mother was standing over their blood on the floor, demanding money for fast food and cosmetics.
"You want money?" I asked. My voice was so quiet, so devoid of emotion, that Marla actually paused, expecting me to reach into my back pocket for my leather wallet.
"Yes! At least two hundred dollars," she said, tapping her foot impatiently. "And don't you dare stay at that hospital until dawn. You have a shift at seven AM, and rent is due next Tuesday."
I grabbed Marla’s wrist, peeling her bony fingers off my collar with enough force that she let out a sharp gasp of pain. I didn't let go. I twisted her hand down, stepping into her personal space until my face was inches from hers.
"Get out," I said.
Marla blinked, her smug expression suddenly faltering into genuine confusion. "What did you say to me?"
"Get out of my house," I repeated, my voice vibrating with a lethal, unyielding fury that shook the walls. "All four of you freeloading monsters. Pack your garbage and get the hell out of my apartment before I come back. If I return from that hospital and see a single hair from any of your heads on my floor, I will have the police drag you out in chains. You are no mother of mine. You are dead to me."
I shoved her backward. Marla stumbled over an open pizza box, landing hard on her rear end on the filthy rug with a loud shriek.
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"Ryan! How dare you?!" Paige screamed, lunging toward me.
I didn't even look back. I bolted through the front door, jumped into the back of the screaming ambulance, and slammed the heavy metal doors shut against the pouring rain.
