The Abandoned Delivery Room

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On my due date, my husband Blake's depressed ex-girlfriend Isaacson burst into the obstetrics ward.

She stabbed a fruit knife into my side.

But Blake crouched down first in front of Isaacson, whose arm had a scratch.

A nurse said:

Dr. Blake, your wife is in critical condition. She needs surgery immediately!

Blake looked up and glanced at me, his tone calm:

"Her wound didn't hit any organs. She can hold on for now. Isaacson has a coagulation disorder. Even a minor scratch might not stop bleeding. Her situation is more urgent.

Give Isaacson those two bags of blood reserved for the delivery first."

As I was being pushed away, I used all my strength to grab his white coat.

He frowned and looked down at me.

"Isaacson didn't do it on purpose. She had an episode. You studied medicine too, you should sympathize with patients."

After saying that, he took out a pre-printed settlement agreement from his pocket.

Holding my blood-covered hand, he pressed a fingerprint in the signature section.

"The next batch of blood bags will arrive soon. Just hold on a little longer."

He carried Isaacson away.

The corridor was empty. No one looked back.

The baby in my belly kicked me desperately, once, then again.

"Quick! Establish bilateral venous access, pressurized infusion! Go urge the blood bank!"

"The mother's blood pressure has dropped to fifty, blood loss exceeds two thousand milliliters!"

"Where are those two bags of red blood cell suspension reserved for delivery?"

I floated above the operating room, watching a group of people busy around my body.

Dr. Waco's surgical gown was already soaked with my blood.

I wanted to touch my belly, but my hand passed through the air.

That stab from Isaacson wasn't the scratch Blake thought it was at all.

She avoided the nurses' rounds and hid the fruit knife in her sleeve.

When she stabbed it in, she leaned against my ear and said, as long as you and this child are gone, Blake will only have me left.

When she pulled out the knife, she even deliberately twisted the handle.

"The blood bank replied that those two bags of backup blood were signed for and taken away by Dr. Blake five minutes ago."

The circulating nurse's voice was tearful.

"Taken away? Is he insane! This is life-saving blood for a high-risk pregnant woman!"

Dr. Waco's hand veins bulged.

"Dr. Blake said Miss Isaacson has a severe coagulation disorder and needs emergency blood reserves for an arm scratch."

The operating room fell silent, leaving only the sharp alarm of the monitoring equipment.

I watched Dr. Waco desperately pack gauze, trying to stop the bleeding point.

I wanted to tell him, don't bother.

I couldn't wait for the next batch of blood Blake promised.

The sound of the fetal heart monitor went from rapid to gradually slower, and finally drew out into a long beep.

The child who had just been kicking me fell completely silent.

"Fetal heartbeat lost."

"Patient in ventricular fibrillation, prepare defibrillator!"

"Two hundred joules, charging, clear."

With a thud, my body bounced on the operating table and fell heavily again.

The electrocardiogram struggled a few times, then flatlined.

"Dr. Blake said the next batch of blood can be transferred from the city blood station in ten minutes."

The head nurse came through the door with red-rimmed eyes.

Dr. Waco put down the defibrillator, his voice hoarse beyond recognition.

"No need. Record time of death, eight-oh-seven p.m."

I watched the nurse take the white cloth, pull it over my head, covering my eyes that wouldn't close in death.

In the VIP ward just one wall away.

Blake was holding an iodine cotton swab, wiping the scraped skin on Isaacson's elbow.

"Blake, did I kill someone?"

Isaacson curled up on the hospital bed, her shoulders trembling.

Blake threw the cotton swab into the medical waste bin, his tone steady.

"No. She just has a superficial wound. You had a depressive episode and couldn't control yourself. The law won't hold you accountable."

"But she bled so much, the way she looked at me was so scary."

"That was amniotic fluid breaking, mixed with blood, just looked frightening. She studied medicine herself, she knows how to avoid vital areas."

Blake lowered his head and blew on Isaacson's wound, which had stopped bleeding.

"As for you, you know your coagulation function isn't good, yet you still ran around. What if this scratch wouldn't stop bleeding?"

Isaacson leaned into his arms, tears rubbing against his white coat.

On the hem of that white coat, there were still bloody handprints I'd clawed out in my dying moments.

"I was afraid that once you had a child, you wouldn't want me anymore. I couldn't control myself."

"Don't overthink it."

Blake stroked her hair.

"I already had her press her fingerprint on the settlement agreement. After she gives birth and her emotions stabilize, I'll have her come tell you in person that it's okay."

When he spoke, it was as if he was just arranging tomorrow's clinic hours.

The emergency room door was pushed open.

Dr. Waco removed his blood-soaked mask, his voice hoarse beyond recognition:

"The mother and child, both gone."

And in the adjacent ward, Blake was lowering his head to blow on the shallow scratch on Isaacson's elbow.

"Dr. Blake, the emergency record from obstetrics needs your signature for confirmation."

Nurse Priya stood at the VIP ward door holding a folder.

Blake tested the water temperature and handed it to Isaacson without looking back.

"Just leave it at the nurse's station. Can't you see Miss Isaacson can't be left alone right now?"

"But Dr. Blake, this record is very special, it's about last night's..."

"Special how? Obstetrics has emergencies every day."

Blake interrupted her.

He pulled out a tissue and wiped the water from the corner of Isaacson's mouth.

"I watched over Isaacson all night last night. I don't have the energy to deal with other matters. Have the deputy director sign it."

Priya opened her mouth, her eyes reddening.

She gripped the folder tightly, ultimately said nothing, and turned to leave.

I followed behind her, watching her put my death record in a drawer.

Along with the pink identification ankle band that never got put on, stuffed together into a medical record bag.

The morgue was too cold. My child and I lay in the freezer, unclaimed, eyes never opened.

I could only drift back to Blake's side.

Isaacson finished drinking water and timidly pulled at Blake's sleeve.

"Blake, she looked at me so fiercely last night, like she wanted to kill me."

"Is she still angry at me? Is she deliberately hiding so she doesn't have to see you?"

Blake took out his phone and looked at the empty WhatsApp chat interface, his brow slightly furrowed.

Usually, as long as he left for more than two hours, my messages would come one after another.

Asking when he'd come home, asking if Isaacson had another episode.

But from last night until now, there had been no activity in my chat window.

"She's just stubborn. She thinks I'm biased toward you and is sulking at me."

Blake's slender fingers tapped on the screen.

I drifted over and saw clearly the message he sent me.

"When you're done throwing your tantrum, respond. Isaacson is already pitiful enough, don't push her anymore."

"The child isn't a tool for you to compete for attention. Do you think playing missing will make me give in?"

After sending, he directly locked the screen.

Isaacson watched his actions, a flash of smugness in her eyes.

She bit her lip, and tears fell again.

"What if she reports me to the police? I'm really so scared."

Blake pulled out a copy of the settlement agreement.

"With this, she can't pursue anything. Besides, she's a doctor, she knows the severity."

"When she calms down, I'll have her apologize to you. After all, she did stimulate you last night."

I looked at him calmly.

Listening to him use the gentlest voice to condemn a dead person.

Two nurses passing in the corridor lowered their voices to gossip.

"That pregnant woman last night was so tragic, bled completely dry."

"Yes, the baby couldn't be saved either. I heard it was a fully formed baby girl."

Blake's hand holding the water cup paused.

He suddenly remembered that today seemed to be my due date.

He stood up, feeling stuffy in his chest.

"I'll go check on the obstetrics department."

He had just taken one step when Isaacson suddenly screamed, clutching her arm.

"It hurts! Blake, I'm so dizzy. Am I going to bleed again?"

Blake immediately turned around and sat back on the bedside, pressing her hand.

The nurse said quietly, "The pregnant woman who died last night, the father registered on the child's ankle band also seemed to be named Blake."

Blake was about to turn around when Isaacson suddenly screamed and threw herself into his arms.

When Blake returned home, the night light in the nursery was still on.

Warm light fell on the brand-new baby bed, covered with sheets I had washed and dried.

The hospital bag lay open on the sofa, with little clothes and diapers neatly packed inside.

On the shoe cabinet, my prenatal checkup book still sat.

On the dining table was a sticky note I'd made in advance listing postpartum meal plans.

Blake changed his shoes and looked at the empty living room, his brow furrowing deeper.

He probably expected me to be sitting on the sofa waiting for him, eyes red, questioning why he saved Isaacson first.

But the house was so quiet, only the ticking of the wall clock remained.

He walked to the dining table and picked up the sticky note.

On the back of the note was a birth risk plan I'd written.

"If I hemorrhage, please prioritize saving the child."

"If I unfortunately don't make it off the operating table, please tell Blake not to let Isaacson near my child."

Blake sneered and crumpled the note into a ball, tossing it in the trash.

"Playing these scare tactics again."

He took out his phone and dialed my number once more.

The receiver only had the cold mechanical female voice prompting that the phone was off.

He opened WhatsApp and forcefully tapped the screen.

"You should come back now. The due date is in these few days. Don't gamble with your body out of spite."

"I've already handled Isaacson's matter. She's just a patient. You don't need to keep arguing with her."

"After you give birth, you can take maternity leave at home. You can keep Isaacson company and provide psychological counseling."

The message was sent, but still no reply.

Blake threw his phone on the sofa and rubbed his temples.

Just then, the phone rang.

The caller ID showed my medical school mentor, Professor Angel, who had always treated me like a daughter.

Blake answered the phone, his tone resuming polite distance.

"Professor Angel, you're looking for me."

"Blake, where are you right now?"

Professor Angel's voice trembled, suppressing anger.

Blake glanced at the sticky note in the trash, naturally assuming I had gone to complain.

"I'm at home. If she sent you to be a mediator, there's no need."

"If she wants me to back down, she should come home herself. She's about to be a mother, yet she's still this immature."

Heavy breathing came from the other end of the phone.

"Immature? Blake, do you even know what happened last night!"

"Of course I know."

Blake's tone cooled.

"Isaacson had a depressive episode and accidentally scratched her. I already had Isaacson apologize. What more does she want?"

"If she feels wronged, after the child is born, I'll buy her that jewelry she's had her eye on for a long time to compensate."

"Don't you have a heart!"

Professor Angel shouted into the phone.

"Usually favoring that woman is one thing, but last night was her due date! You..."

Before Professor Angel could finish, Blake's other phone rang. It was a video call from Isaacson.

Blake didn't even look and directly hung up on Professor Angel.

He answered the video. On the screen, Isaacson was crying, her face covered in tears.

"Blake, come quickly! I dreamed of her!"

"She was holding a knife coming for me, saying she'd kill me! I'm so scared!"

Blake stood up and grabbed his car keys without hesitation.

"Don't be afraid, I'll come right away."

As he walked through the living room, his gaze fell on a delicately packaged velvet box.

It was a baby baptismal cross necklace he'd bought last week, planning to put it on the child during their future baptism.

It had the nickname he'd casually chosen engraved on it: Oliver.

It seemed he had originally planned to use this to placate me after I gave birth.

He stuffed the box in his pocket and closed the door.

When Blake rushed to the ward, Isaacson was curled in the corner of the bed, pointing at the window and screaming:

"She's here! She's holding the baby coming for me!"

The ward curtains were drawn so tightly not a crack showed.

The phone at the bedside was looping the sound of a fetal heart monitor alarm.

Several torn four-dimensional ultrasound photos were scattered on the floor.

Those were ones I'd waited in line alone to take at six months.

Isaacson covered her ears, rolling desperately on the bed.

"It's her! She's sending messages cursing me!"

"She said she and the child won't let me go, she wants to drag me to hell with her!"

Blake strode over and held her tightly in his arms.

"It's okay, it's okay. Just hallucinations."

"It's not a hallucination! Look at the phone!"

Isaacson trembled as she pointed to the phone on the floor.

Blake picked it up. On the screen was a text from an unknown number.

"You stole my husband. My child and I will haunt you even as ghosts."

Blake's expression instantly darkened.

He was too familiar with this tone. In the past, when I was pushed to the edge, I would also use this desperate tone to question him.

"She's really lost it."

Blake clenched his teeth, his eyes full of disappointment.

"Using the child to scare a patientis this her medical ethics as a doctor?"

I floated in midair, watching Isaacson buried in his embrace, a cold smile appearing.

Of course she knew I was already dead. When she stabbed me last night, her eyes were terrifyingly clear.

She had even calmly stuffed the knife handle into my hand after pulling it out, creating the false appearance of a struggle.

Now, she was using a dead person's name to continue playing the victim in front of Blake.

Blake took out his phone and called the medical affairs office.

"Mr. Johnson, it's me. About my wife's advanced training qualification for next year, cancel it for now."

"She's been extremely emotionally unstable during pregnancy, showing paranoid and aggressive tendencies. She's not suitable to continue contact with patients."

"Yes, I'll submit a psychiatric evaluation statement."

In a few words, he stripped away three years of my effort and used his professional status to label me mentally abnormal.

After hanging up, he sent me an ultimatum.

"Come to the hospital within ten minutes and apologize to Isaacson in person."

"Otherwise, after the child is born, I won't let you continue being this willful. I'll consider having you temporarily stop working and focus on taking care of the child at home."

The message was sent successfully, still no reply.

Isaacson pulled at his collar, crying until she couldn't catch her breath.

"Blake, I'll never be able to have children in this life. Why does she have to use a child to provoke me?"

Blake looked at her pale face, a trace of guilt flashing in his eyes.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the velvet box he had originally prepared for me.

With a snap it opened. A pure silver baptismal cross necklace gleamed, 'Oliver' glaring on it.

"Don't be afraid. I'll always be with you from now on."

Blake took Isaacson's hand and placed the cross necklace that belonged to my child in her palm.

"This is for you. Consider it her apology to you."

Isaacson broke into a smile, gripping the cross tightly.

With a bang, the ward door was kicked open violently from outside.

Professor Angel stood panting in the doorway, hair disheveled, eyes red as if dripping blood.

She strode forward, raised her hand, and slapped Blake hard across the face.

The crisp sound of the slap echoed in the ward.

Professor Angel's voice trembled:

"She and the child are both dead, and you're still using the child's things to placate the murderer?"